Angel In Darkness
by SpiritRose3496
Summary: Three years after the events in Phantom of the Opera, Alison Taylor travels back in time to the Opera Populaire. She establishes a friendship with the elusive Erik and realizes that there is more to him than any musical can show. Contains elements from both the book and the musical.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Alison Taylor was watching Phantom of the Opera for the hundredth time. Literally, the hundredth time. She had watched the 2004 movie on her birthday last year and immediately loved it. So she watched it again. And again. And again. After the thirtieth time, she had actually started to keep track. She loved all of it, but there was one thing she watched it for more than anything else. She watched it to see the Phantom.

There was just something about him that caught and kept her attention. He was just so amazing! It seemed to her like he was good at everything he did (with the exception of wooing women). He was a composer and an artist and an architect. He seemed so mature and, at the same time, sensitive, unlike most of the guys she knew from college. That included her boyfriend, Patrick.

He didn't seem to understand her fixation with Phantom of the Opera. "It's just a musical like any other," he would always say. "Not to mention that the title character is seriously creepy."

That always upset her. Patrick was seeing the Phantom through the eyes of all of the blind people who only looked at the outside, not the inside. Whenever she tried to point this out, he would laugh and change the topic. She had stopped arguing with him about it after a while. Neither of them ever conceded anything and so she had just stopped talking about it.

But she hadn't stopped thinking about it. Which was why she was watching it again. She had gotten to the part that always frustrated her, All I Ask of You. She didn't deny that Emmy Rossum and Patrick Wilson looked kind of cute together as Christine and Raoul, but their almost willful blindness bothered her. _It's so obvious that the Phantom is RIGHT THERE!_ she thought, as she had a hundred times before. _If you just turned your heads a little bit you would be able to see him. Why shouldn't he be there? It's his opera house. He knows everything that goes on in it. And most obviously, he is seriously in love with Christine. OF COURSE he would be watching her, especially if she ran out to be alone with her childhood sweetheart._ The scene always made her sad. She could see the Phantom's utter heartbreak in his face and she felt such sympathy for him. He had been stuck in the opera house alone for most of his life and when he finally found someone he could love, she utterly rejected him! Why Christine had done that had never made sense to Alison.

Finally, the scene came to an end. Christine and Raoul ran off together, happy and in love. Then the camera showed the red rose that Christine had dropped. A black clad figure stooped to pick it up. His pain showed in his eyes. "I gave you my music, made your song take wing, and now, now you've repaid me, denied me and betrayed me." Alison felt the familiar lump in her throat. It was so unfair that a man like this would be rejected so harshly. "He was bound to love you, when he heard you sing." The Phantom whispered Christine's name in a voice heavy with sorrow.

She felt tears starting in her eyes to match those in his. She longed with all her heart to comfort him, to tell him that everything was going to be all right, but she knew that would never happen. He was just a character in a musical and she would never be able to talk to him. Full of compassion and pity, she reached out to touch his face on the computer.

She immediately felt silly for touching an image with such feeling. It was only a picture, after all. Alison went to pull her hand back, but found that she couldn't. It almost looked like her fingers had sunk into the computer. She pulled again. No luck. Her hand was moving into the computer in a way that shouldn't have been possible according to all the laws of science, slowly at first but then faster. Her arm followed, then her shoulder. Her shock at what was happening turned to horror only quickly enough for her to scream once before she had vanished completely into the computer. When her roommate Kylie came to investigate the scream, all she found was the Phantom of the Opera still playing from Alison's computer into an empty room.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"Unh.." Alison fell and hit the ground hard. She lay there for a second, slightly stunned. Then she pulled herself to her feet, rubbing her arm. "Ouch," she muttered. She hoped she hadn't done any damage but she wasn't too optimistic judging by the way it felt. She looked around her in confusion. What she saw made no sense. She was standing in a large room with a tiled floor. In front of her was a large marble staircase with a golden banister and golden statues on either side. The ceiling was high and the whole room seemed like the entranceway to a large theater of some kind. She heard hurried footsteps echoing around the space. Suddenly a middle-aged woman dressed in black rounded the corner and started quickly down the steps. She carried a stick, although she didn't seem to use it for anything. She had brown hair in a long braid that wrapped around her head and went down her back. She looked upset and was muttering to herself in French.

"Ces filles! Ils sont tellement stupide quand le Fantôme est concerné. S'ils juste apprendre à ..." *(Those girls! They are so stupid when the Phantom is concerned. If they would just learn to..)Then she noticed Alison and stopped.

"Who are you? What do you want here?" the woman asked in French.

Alison hesitated. She had taken French in high school and was continuing to take it in college, but her French wasn't the best. "What is your name?" she asked haltingly.

The woman sighed. "My name is Antoinette Giry. You may call me Madame Giry."

Alison's eyes went wide for a second. Her mind was racing. _Madame Giry? _The_ Madame Giry? If she really is, then that must mean…_

It was obvious that Madame Giry was expecting an answer. "Well, girl? I'm a busy woman, please do not keep me waiting."

"Umm… my name is Angelique. I'm here to…audition for the ballet school." She said the first thing that popped into her head.

"Your accent is a little odd. Where are you from?" Madame Giry asked curiously.

"I'm from America."

"America! You are a long way from home. What brings you here?"

She knew she couldn't exactly explain the whole fell-into-a-computer thing, so she decided to lie. "I am from a family that is… uh… relatively wealthy. They gave me some instruction in ballet, which gave me a taste for it. But when I expressed interest in becoming a dancer, they-um-refused to allow me to go further. They wanted me to marry into a 'respectable' family and become like a doll, good for nothing but showing off and giving babies. That was not the kind of life I wished to lead. I wanted to get far away from my parents. I decided to come here, since...um… I had heard that the academy was very good."

Madame Giry's expression softened. "Well, in that case, mademoiselle, you are welcome here." She seemed worried for a second. "Do you think there will be anyone who will come here looking for you?"

Alison's eyes sparkled. "No. They wouldn't come looking for me here, I promise."

Madame Giry relaxed. "Good. Then I will enroll you in the school. Would you like to move in with the other girls right away?"

Alison nodded. "Yes, please!"

"Then come with me."

**Sorry the chapters are so short. This is my first fanfic so please bear with me. They will get longer, I promise. Please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The ballet girls were sitting on the floor in a huddle around one girl when Madame Giry and Alison got to the dormitory. "He was there! I saw him, I'm telling you! He was standing outside the prima donna's dressing room and I _saw_ him. He was dressed all in black with a big long cloak."

Madame Giry sighed. She banged her stick on the ground and all of the girls looked around.

"Girls, please meet our new student…"

"Angelique Taylor." Alison filled in. Angelique had been her name in French class, and she thought it was appropriate considering that now she was in the Opera Populaire, the home of the real Angel of Music.

"She is from America and will be starting school tomorrow. Anastasie, please find Angelique a place to sleep." Madame Giry made as if to leave, then stopped. "And Paulette, please refrain from discussing him in such a way. You know that, if he chooses, he can hear you wherever he is. You would do better to hold your tongue. Do you understand?"

The girl who had been speaking when they arrived blushed and nodded. Madame Giry nodded back and left the dormitory.

A girl who seemed to be two or three years older than Alison stood up. "Bonjour. My name is Anastasie. I will show you where you will sleep for the time you are with us." She smiled. "If you have questions about anything, feel free to ask me."

Anastasie took her to an empty bed. "Here you are. Do you have any personal belongings?"

"No." Alison hesitated. "But I do have a question."

"Of course. Ask it and I will answer as best I can."  
"Who was that girl Paulette talking about when I came in?" She thought she knew the answer, but she just wanted to be sure.

Anastasie's face went white. "No one," she said softly. "And if you are smart, you will not ask again. This place has secrets that are meant to remain so."

Alison began her study at the ballet school the next day. She had taken a couple of ballet lessons when she was younger, and, although she was a beginner, she had no great difficulty in learning. Fortunately, the story she had told about herself on the first day made allowances for her lack of knowledge. She immediately made friends among the other girls and her French improved daily. She adjusted very quickly to life in the Opera Populaire.

About a month after she arrived at the Opera Populaire, Madame Giry made an announcement.

"You have all worked very hard and learned much in your time with us. But learning does not just come from doing. It also comes from watching. So you will learn by watching some of the best dancers. We will be going to Italy to watch the production of Swan Lake for the weekend-"

She had to stop there because all of the girls started talking and screaming at once. The sound carried on until she banged her stick sharply against the ground. Everyone stopped and turned to listen again.

"Pack a change of clothes and anything else you believe is necessary. We will be leaving in half an hour, so you must hurry. You all will be representing this place as soon as you leave the building, so I expect all of you to be on your best behavior. If not, we will not be taking trips of this kind again. Is that understood?"

There was a general affirmative murmur and then everyone sprinted out of the room to pack. Alison was swept along in the tide of people, just as excited to go as all the others. They reached the dormitory and started frantically throwing things in their bags. Once everyone was packed they ran downstairs to the door.

"Vingt-sept, vingt-huit, vingt-neuf, trente. That is everyone. Time to go!" Madame Giry murmured. She and the other teachers herded the students into carriages. The style of it reminded Alison of the way teachers did things in field trips at home. She was about to step into the carriage when she remembered something. She had left her lucky charm underneath her pillow! Her father had given her a stone wolf for her eighteenth birthday and she always carried it around with her. She had put it under her pillow to make sure it didn't get lost but she had forgotten it in the rush to pack. Alison got out of her place in line and slipped into the opera house. No one saw her go.

She sprinted to the dormitory, grabbed the wolf, and ran back, hoping beyond hope that no one had noticed her absence. She tried to open the door quietly and slip out again, but the door didn't budge. She tried harder. No luck. She looked out through one of the windows in the front of the opera house and felt a prickle of fear when she realized that the carriages outside were gone.

_All right_, she told herself, _all you have to do is try one of the other doors. You can get out that way and catch up to them. They can't have gone far._ She went around the building and tried to open every single one of the doors that led to the outside. Each one was locked. She was really starting to get scared but tried to calm herself by taking a couple of deep breaths. _What should I do now?_

Panicking more as the hours went by, she ran around frantically trying to find another way out. Catching up to the carriages was forgotten. She needed to find a way out of here, and fast. It was getting darker and darker and soon she wouldn't be able to see anything at all. Then an idea hit her, an idea so obvious she felt like hitting herself on the head for not thinking of it sooner. The tunnels! This place was riddled with tunnels and passageways and secret entrances for the Phantom of the Opera. _He probably doesn't just walk out the front door when he needs to leave_, she reasoned. There was only one place in the opera house that she knew where to access the tunnels. Hesitatingly, and a little nervously, she made her way to the prima donna's dressing room. The book/musical had been right about so many aspects of the Opera Populaire. She just hoped that it was right about this one.

She pushed open the door and gasped quietly at the opulence of the place she had just walked into. It was a large dressing room with expensive wallpaper on all of the walls. Pictures hung all over the place and almost every available surface was covered with roses. On the other side of the room, almost exactly opposite to the doors, stood a large, full-length mirror. Looking at the mirror reminded her that she had not come here just to stare. For a moment she allowed herself to pretend she was Christine. In her mind's eye, she could almost see the mysterious black figure with the white half mask.

"Angel of music, guide and guardian, grant to me your glory! Angel of music, hide no longer. Come to me, strange angel!" she softly sang in her head as she walked towards the mirror. But as she reached the glass, she realized one important thing. She didn't know how to get through the mirror. She spent some time fumbling around with it and then her finger hit a catch in the gilded frame. There was a strange sensation of being lifted. All of a sudden, she found herself standing in complete blackness.

She cursed herself for not thinking of the fact that there was absolutely no light at all in the tunnels. _Maybe this plan wasn't the best after all_, she thought.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Gradually her eyes became accustomed to the blackness. She wandered around in the tunnels for what seemed like hours before she truly realized she was lost. Even then, her mind didn't want to accept the fact. _If I just keep making random turns, I'll be sure to find a way out. It can't be _that _hard, after all._ But she had quickly realized that it was "that hard". Not paying too much attention to the floor in front of her, she failed to notice the large set of steps. That is, until her foot hit empty air and she came crashing to the ground.

She lay stunned in the darkness. It came to her after a while that she was not getting up. She had started the search with such confidence and had felt it draining away as the hours went by. Now, lying on the floor in pitch-blackness with no way out, she had no desire to get up. No desire to keep on going. And, in utter hopelessness, she began to cry, which would have been really embarrassing but she thought that no one else was there to hear her.

But she was wrong. There was someone who heard her. Someone with very good ears. The only person who would be in the Opera Populaire at this time of night. He looked up sharply at the sound. "I heard someone crying. Who, though, could it be?" A thought occurred to him. "Maybe it was Christine, calling out to me. Maybe she's not gone so far away as I've been told. I heard someone crying, maybe it was she." He grabbed his cloak and was gone.

When her tears had finally dried, she looked up, ready to get up and try again. Her eyes registered that she was in a dank tunnel with a bend just in front of her. She realized suddenly that she could see more clearly than she had before. _How? Is there something about falling down a large set of stairs that makes your eyes adjust to darkness? _she wondered. But then she saw that there was actually light. The flickering light of a lantern.

She slowly rose to her feet. The first thing that turned the corner was the lantern, a tiny ball of light. Then someone rounded the corner. She only noticed that the figure was male before the relief swept through her, coming from the sight of a human being. Not knowing who he was, and at that moment, not caring, she ran forward and flung her arms around his neck.

He froze. No one had _ever_ initiated contact of this kind before. The gesture was so alien to him that at first he had no idea what he should do. Then he remembered. It was called "hugging" and he saw the ballet girls do it all the time. He hesitantly put his arms around her waist, waiting for her to let go and back away in fear. She didn't seem to react, except for maybe hugging him a little bit tighter. They stood like that for quite a while.

Her relief slowly wore off and she realized the awkwardness of her position. She was standing in the middle of an underground tunnel, hugging a man who she didn't even know just because he was there. He felt her hold loosen and he quickly let go as she stepped away, her cheeks slightly pink.

"I-I'm sorry, sir," she said, looking at the ground.

He frowned. "I see no reason for you to be sorry."

She heard his voice, a voice more beautiful than any she had heard before. _Almost angelic_… Therewas a jolt in her stomach as she raised her head and looked at the man who had found her. He was wearing a black suit with a white shirt that barely peeked through. A long black cape swirled around his body. His fingers were stained and spotted with ink. He seemed to be about three or four inches taller than she was. His hair was black, shiny, and slightly off center, almost as if it were a wig. Her gaze travelled to his face. His eyes reflected total astonishment. His face was almost handsome, despite the residential grief in each shadow and line. Then her eyes stopped at the white mask that covered the right half of his face. She flushed bright red and looked at her shoes as she realized just who she had hugged. Her mind was reeling. _I just hugged the Phantom of the Opera… this cannot be happening. I must be dreaming._ She felt almost elated, but at the same time extremely embarrassed at the way she had leaped at him.

"I… I… I'm so sorry for flying at you like that, the ballet school took a trip and I went back to get something as we were leaving but all the doors were locked and I couldn't get out. I've been wandering around here for hours and there's no one else in this entire building and it's dark and when I saw someone else here, I just…" She cut herself off. _You're babbling_, she scolded herself. _It's ridiculous to be frightened. Just try to act normal and he'll be more likely to help you._ She pulled herself together and looked up at him.

"You probably know this place pretty well, do you know any other ways out besides the main doors?"

The Phantom hesitated. He knew of so many secret ways out, but something about this girl intrigued him. He had almost gotten the feeling that she had stepped away because she was embarrassed about hugging him, not because she was repulsed by his touch. But he had to get to know her better. There was no other way to be sure. So he lied.

"No. If all the little doors are locked, there are no other ways out. But I can possibly give you somewhere to stay until the ballet rats come back," he suggested hesitantly. Immediately he wanted to take back his last sentence. Why would anyone accept an offer of hospitality from him? Preparing himself for the small sting of rejection he was surprised when she gave another answer.

"Yes, please. If that's all right with you," she added hesitantly. She had wanted to see his home ever since she had come, but had been too afraid to even try to get into the tunnels. Only desperation had led her here, but she was getting happier by the second that it had.

Silently he held out his hand to her. She slid her hand into his, feeling like she had just stepped straight into the musical. The song started playing in her head. _In sleep he sang to me In dreams he came, That voice which calls to me And speaks my name, And do I dream again For now I find The Phantom of the Opera is there Inside my mind._ But he wasn't inside her mind; he was here, in reality. She felt the pressure of his hand holding hers, and that was certainly real. He didn't say a word as he led her to a boat: a small black gondola decorated with a skull on the bow. _It's funny how much the movie got right,_ she thought. He helped her into the boat silently and began to pole his way through the waterways beneath the theater. She turned her head left and right, trying to take it all in and not forget. But there was simply too much to see. The boat reached a large archway with a grate across it similar to a portcullis, which rose of its own volition. She examined it, trying to figure out how it worked, but was distracted by the space they had just floated into.

"_Oh my God_," she whispered in English. There were candles all around, thousands and thousands of them. By their flickering light, she could see everything. The first thing she noticed was the large pipe organ, which dominated the entire back of the space. Sheet music covered every available surface. To the left there were models upon models of stages and sets for what looked like almost every opera in existence. The whole space seemed to be a kingdom for music and it took her breath away. "_It was beautiful in the movie, but I never thought…"_

The Phantom watched her face very carefully. He was surprised at the wonder in her eyes that seemed to grow with every new thing they encountered in the waterways. Her reaction to his home stunned him most of all. He immediately noticed the change of language. He didn't speak English, but he guessed that that was what it was.

He docked the boat and helped her out of it. "This is my home," he said, indicating the entire space with a sweep of his hand.

"It's beautiful," she breathed.

He led her to the large swan bed in the corner of the room. She saw it and hesitated. Erik wanted to slap himself. _Of course_ she wouldn't want to accept, not if he was the giver. Why would she want anything from a monster?

"But… but this is your bed," she stammered.

"Yes." He let go of her hand and looked away from her.

"If I take it, where will you sleep?" she asked, concerned. He looked up at her in surprise. _Was that the wrong thing to say?_

"You are… concerned that I have nowhere to sleep?" he asked. The words sounded almost awkward, even in his beautiful voice. She nodded.

"I rarely sleep at all. Do not worry for me," he said.

"Are you sure that you don't mind?"

"Yes."

She flopped on the bed. "All right," she yawned. "But I really think…" What she thought he would never get to hear, for in the middle of her sentence, she fell asleep.

He looked at her in some confusion. She had been concerned for him! No human being had ever actually cared where he slept. She had not hesitated because it was he, a loathsome corpse, helping her; she had not wanted to take something that he needed! She was a very, very strange girl. He should detach himself and refrain from further contact, he thought, because she would betray him like everyone else he had ever helped. Nevertheless, he stood there staring for a long time.

**When the Phantom speaks for the first time as he hears her crying, that is a quote from the musical The Secret Garden. Please review!**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Alison woke to the sound of loud, grating music. It was full of dissonances but as she listened to it, order and beauty slowly immerged. It was immediately clear to her that she was hearing the Phantom's masterwork, _Don Juan Triumphant_. Just as she had begun to like the strange music it abruptly stopped and a new piece began to play.

Erik had written this piece for Christine, like so much of his music. He poured his heart and all of his sadness for her betrayal into his playing. Tears threatened to slip down his cheeks by the time that the notes eventually slowed to a halt. He had been so absorbed in the music he nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the sound of clapping. He whipped his head around quickly and saw his strange guest sitting up in bed, applauding him with shining eyes.

"That was beautiful, monsieur! Sad but beautiful. You truly are a wonderful composer." _Just like in the musical_, she added in her head.

He looked almost embarrassed. "Thank you," he said softly. "Music is my life, and to hear someone compliment it is…" He stopped and looked down. Then something occurred to him. "I do believe I forgot to ask your name. Who are you?"

"Je m'appelle Angelique," she replied. Erik braced himself for her to ask what his name was, but she simply said, "It is a pleasure to meet you, monsieur."

Interestingly, she seemed to mean it, too. They sat there staring at each other awkwardly for a few seconds before he cleared his throat and asked, "Would you like some breakfast?" He wasn't sure how he felt about having a guest but as he couldn't exactly leave her alone in the opera house, he didn't really have a choice.

She nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, please!"

Without saying another word, he got up and walked to a part of his home she couldn't see. _This is all totally surreal_, she thought. _I'm sitting in the home on the lake beneath the Opera Populaire and waiting for Erik, the actual Phantom of the Opera, to make me breakfast. The only way it could get stranger is if he started dancing around on his head. Not like that's ever going to happen._ He interrupted her thoughts with the clink of a plate on wood. She looked up and saw him putting a plate of eggs on a small wooden table with two chairs on the far side of the lair. "Well? Are you coming or not?"

She jumped out of bed, not wanting to miss food. "I'm coming." She ate quickly, like she normally did. She was usually just too busy during the day to bother with spending too much time on something as trivial as breakfast. But the way he sat and stared at her while she ate made her want to finish faster. It was extremely disconcerting, especially since he wasn't eating anything himself. "You're not going to have anything?"

"No," he replied. "I rarely feel the need to eat, mademoiselle. Food is trivial and unnecessary when one is working." He got up abruptly and walked to a small, dark archway in the wall. Seeming to realize something, he turned to her and said, "I will be busy for the rest of the day. Entertain yourself. You are welcome to go anywhere except in there." He pointed to a curtained alcove in the middle of the room. "If you have disobeyed me, I will know. And the consequences… are not something you wish to experience. Is that understood?"

She nodded. "Where are you going? There's no one here."

"That is exactly why I am going. I can make improvements to my opera house without interference from meddling fools." He turned and disappeared into the dark hole in the wall.

She glanced towards the alcove. What was in there that he had to make sure to protect? It would be so easy to just pull aside the curtain for a second and look… but no. She would respect his privacy and leave it alone. Or attempt to, anyway. Besides, he never reacted especially well to having his rules broken, if what she already knew about him was remotely true.

She looked around the lair. There should be plenty to keep her occupied in a place like this. She spent a while exploring, but his home was small and after a while, she had seen everything there was to see except the one place she was not allowed to go. She sat down at the table again and thought. There was no way to determine how much time had passed and how long it would be until his return. What was she supposed to do? Her mind immediately jumped to the one thing she always did when she was bored: writing.

She located a large stack of blank paper she had found during her exploration. She took a quarter of the paper, a pen, and some ink. _What I wouldn't give for a pencil_, she thought. _But I'll just have to make do with what I have._ Then she began to write. Poems flew off her pen. She wrote her new experiences at the Opera Populaire. She wrote the future and her dreams. She wrote her home, and only now realized how much she had missed it. Once she couldn't think of anything else, she began copying random song lyrics, which was much more entertaining than most people might think. She translated everything she had just written into French, just because. Then her mind seemed to stop working.

_What do I do now? I can't think of anything else to do or write. _Seemingly randomly, something occurred to her that should have been obvious in her exploration of the Phantom's home. In the movie/musical, there had been drawings everywhere. Drawings and sculptures based on one model: Christine. Not to mention the doll in the wedding dress. Why were they not here? Did he burn them all after she left him? Or maybe the events of the musical hadn't happened yet. That could be it. But she remembered some of the staff members talking in hushed whispers about the "Chandelier Incident". There was only one thing that could be. So where was Christine?

She took the last sheet of paper and began to write slowly.

_She was once the largest part of his life_

_All of his hopes and dreams in her_

_He gave everything to her_

_His love was extraordinary_

_But she left him for another man_

_And his heartbreak was immense:_

_So they say._

_He wrote her music and drew her_

_So where are the drawings now?_

_Where is the music?_

_Where is she?_

_Disappeared like a shadow in the rain_

_Gone without any sort of trace_

_Left an empty home, an empty life, an empty heart_

_But even emptiness leaves a mark._

_Even grief and pain leave their traces._

_But there are no traces or marks_

_Left by the woman who changed his life._

_So where is she?_

In an almost magnetic way, her eyes were drawn to the alcove in the corner. _Could it be?_ But there was only one way to find out. Slowly she got up from her seat and looked around cautiously. There was no one around her. That didn't mean anything, though. From everything she had heard, he was very good at not being seen. There was no reason that she could see for him to hide himself, however. So she was safe. For the moment.

She tiptoed across the room and stopped in front of the curtains. Hesitantly, she reached for them. Her common sense was screaming at her. _Don't do it! Even if he's not here, he's coming home soon. And how will he react when he finds out you've betrayed his trust? That won't exactly help your "get to know him and be friends with him" plan._ But her curiosity overpowered everything and she pulled back the red velvet curtains.

Christine stared at her with blank eyes. She was shocked for a moment until she realized: _Not Christine. The wedding dress doll. Of course. No need to be afraid._ All around it were various drawings and paintings of her. Sheets of music filled every other available space. There was no time to look closer as a black-clad arm grabbed her and pulled her away. She looked into the Phantom's livid eyes.

"Did I not instruct you to _stay out of there_? I told you that there would be consequences for disobeying me. It was not enough to discourage you, though. Not only do you invade my home, you take it into your head that I should have no secrets from you?" he yelled. He was terrifyingly angry. He seemed to loom above her and it was only in that moment that she remembered how easily his temper was triggered in all the stories that she read. Her silence seemed to bother him.

"Damn you!" He struck her to the ground. She fell on the hard stone and it hurt more than she had been expecting. "You little prying Pandora! You little demon! Is this what you wanted to see?" He gestured towards the Christine doll. "Of course, you could not know to leave well enough alone. No one does. Ever. Curiosity seems to be the disease of the human race." Bitterness had crept into his tone. "Do you not understand the concept of _forbidden_? My secrets are my secrets. Why can you not just let them be?" It seemed like he wasn't really talking to her anymore. "I am a solitary person and I do not bother many people besides those who do not obey me or those who deserve it. Yet somehow everyone feels it necessary to bother me!"

"I wasn't trying to bother you, monsieur," she said softly.

He stopped mid-rant. "What?"

"I wasn't trying to bother you. I didn't mean to cause you pain. I was just… looking for something."

Her words took him by surprise. Most people he met… not all of them wanted to hurt him but they sure didn't want to help him either. Her active intent not to cause him pain was – interesting. He frowned. "What were you looking for?"

She shook her head. "That's my secret. But I will tell you that I found it."

They looked at each other. His expression was confused and wary, hers was open. She smiled softly at him and saw his eyes widen in shock. Finally he broke the gaze and turned abruptly to collect the bag he had dropped upon seeing her in the alcove. He picked it up and placed it on the small wooden table they had had breakfast on earlier.

"What's that?"

"Seeing as you may be my guest for some time, I thought you might need more food than I would normally have. Are you hungry?"

"Yes, a little."

"I shall return in a moment. Wait for me." And with that he was gone. Alison remained on the floor in front of the alcove. His jarring mood swings had left her mind scrambling to catch up with his train of thought. His anger at her curiosity had been much scarier than she had been expecting. _At least I had the sense not to take off his mask_, she thought. _Then he would have kicked me out for sure._ She made a mental promise to obey his rules from now on, no matter how curious she got.

In the small kitchen in a niche in the rock, Erik made them both dinner, using it as an excuse to calm his racing mind. The same questions ran though over and over, bouncing off the corners and echoing in his brain. _What was she looking for? What did she mean when she said she found it? Why had she smiled at him even after he had hurt her? After he had yelled at her and cursed her?_ No matter how much he tried, he couldn't think of an answer to any of his questions. Her actions didn't fit with any of the things he had learned to expect from normal people. He needed to talk to her to figure out just who she was. And if she would betray him like all the others who had pretended to show him kindness.

**I wrote the poem myself, sorry if it's not the best. Review, or the Phantom will come and Punjab you.**


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

The Phantom came in with two plates of food, one much smaller than the other. Alison wondered at the two very different portions and then remembered that in every single fan fiction she had ever read, the Phantom never ate all that much. _Not that I should take everything in those stories as absolutely true. Maybe I should just focus on getting to know him without any of the past baggage attached._ He placed the larger plate in front of her and sat down across from her at the table.

"Thank you. I really appreciate everything you've done for me. If not for you, I would still be wandering lost around the opera house. I would have been scared out of my mind, not to mention hungry," she added with a small smile.

He looked almost surprised by her thanks. "It was nothing," he said, seeming embarrassed. _She actually thanked me? But why? Why would she want to be in this situation with someone like me?_ He fought to keep from blurting out his questions, as most of them would probably seem impolite.

She began to eat and he followed her example. The food was absolutely delicious – she had a very hard time not shoveling it down. He finished much faster than she did and spent the rest of the meal staring at her in silence.

She finished and looked up at him. "Thank you, monsieur," she said softly.

_Why does she continue to thank me? I've done nothing worthy of thanks._ "You're welcome, Angelique."

She hesitated for a second and then asked, "What do you want me to call you?"

"What?" It seemed completely off topic and a little strange.

"Since I might have to be here for a while, I can't keep calling you 'monsieur', it seems too formal… unless you want me to call you that… I just thought… I mean, I…" She trailed off into embarrassed silence, cheeks bright red.

Erik felt a sense of shock. No one had ever actually asked him that. _They came up with their own names,_ he thought bitterly. _Devil's Child, freak, monster, at least phantom is better._ But what did he want her to call him? "You come up with something," he said gruffly, trying to hide all the things the question had made him feel.

"Wow. I should come up with something? Let me think." _I can't call him Erik. That would lead to far too many questions that I'm not sure I want to answer right now. Calling him Phantom would be weird. Same with Trap-door Lover and all his other titles. Even Angel of Music would be…_ Then a thought occurred to her. "Do you speak English?"

"No. It is not a language that is common in the parts I have lived in. I can speak French, German, Spanish, Italian, and Persian, but not English."

She smiled. "I have a name for you."

"What is it?"

"I would like to call you _Angel_."

"What does it mean?"

She thought for a moment. She knew the literal translation, but giving it would lead to awkward questions, considering that he had posed as an angel to Christine for years. So she gave a definition instead. "I… I don't know how to say it in French. It means… someone who is very kind and who… who watches over people. Protects them. Someone who saves people from harm."

His eyes widened at the definition. "And you really wish to call me this?"

"Yes." _He probably wouldn't see it as a complement if I actually gave him the word._

He was clearly shocked and flattered at the same time. _Probably no one has actually said anything nice to him before, not even Christine. I'm glad to be the first, but it's sad that I am._

"All right then," he said, unsure. There was a long, awkward silence.

"You said that you could speak Persian. Does that mean you have lived in Persia?"

He was almost used to her random topic changes by now. He didn't usually give out information about himself to strangers, but her curiosity about his actual life instead of what was under the mask flattered him. "Yes, I have lived in Persia. For some years of my life I was employed by the Shah of Persia." He couldn't help preening a little.

Her eyes widened. _So that part of the book is true._ "I've never been to Persia. Will you tell me what it's like? What did you do in the Shah's court? What were people like? How did they dress? What did it all look like?"

He hesitated. She noticed his pause and her eyes went from curious and interested to embarrassed. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, I just thought…" She let the sentence trail off into silence.

"No, it is all right. I can tell you some things about my time in Persia, if you would like."

Her face immediately brightened again. "Yes, please!"

He stayed up most of the night telling her stories about his travels. The enthralled look in her eyes and her barrage of questions were intriguing – and flattering. The fact that she actually was interested in what he had to say was inconceivable to him, but no one else had cared about his adventures or anything he had done in his life. No one had listened. Ever.

At one in the morning, his throat finally began to get sore and she started to yawn. She apologized every time, trying to make sure he didn't feel that she wasn't listening. He realized belatedly what the problem was.  
"You should get some sleep. You must be tired."

She nodded. "So I guess… I'll see you in the morning then."

"Good night."

Since he didn't feel like sleeping, he stayed up longer to compose. At some point, he decided to check on her. He glided over to the swan bed and his heart jolted when he realized she wasn't there. _Where could she have gone? She would have gotten lost in the tunnels and, anyway, she said she was tired, so there was no reason for her to leave._ He noticed a movement on the ground and looked down. His eyes went wide with shock when he realized what it was.

Alison was sleeping on the floor, curled up in a ball. A strange emotion slipped its way into his heart. _She slept on the floor because she didn't want to inconvenience me by taking my bed!_ There had been few people who had showed him kindness over the years, but there had never been anyone who had done anything this caring before besides Antoinette. But this was different than what she had done. This girl, Angelique, had showed him a small kindness. Maybe it was small in her eyes, but it was big to him.

He noticed that she was shivering ever so slightly in her sleep. Still filled with that nameless emotion, he swirled the cloak from his shoulders and swept it over her sleeping form. A small smile crossed his lips as he looked down at her, something that rarely happened. Still surprised and touched at what she had done, he went back to his organ and began to write a piece of music unlike any he had ever written before, soft and sweet and slightly sad. A lullaby. Written for the girl who had shown him more compassion than anyone he had ever met.

**When she calls him Angel, she is using the English word since she usually speaks French with him. I will always italicize the words every time she (or one of the other characters) is speaking English in Erik's world. It might get a little confusing since their thoughts are also italicized, but I think it should be easy to figure out which is which. To those of you who have stuck with me this far, thank you so much! And please review!**


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Alison woke up the next morning feeling extremely stiff. Rock was a lot harder to sleep on than she had originally thought. She sat up and stretched, arching her back to try and get rid of the tension. She was surprised when a long piece of black material slithered off her lap to the floor. Frowning, she picked it up. Surprise shot through her when she realized that it was _his_ cloak. A small smile crossed her lips. She had known that he was kind, since he took her, a stranger, into his home without asking questions, but she hadn't known that he was capable of small but beautiful kindnesses such as this. It seemed almost… chivalrous. _Not that I don't think he's a good person_, she added in her mind. _I just thought that he wouldn't think about stuff like that. It doesn't seem like the kind of person he is. But I guess there is more to everyone than there seems to be, particularly him._ She got up and bundled the cloak into her arms, making sure it didn't drag on the ground. She carefully picked her way around the lair down to where she saw him sitting at his organ, scratching out notes on a piece of paper with a quill pen. His hand seemed to glide across the paper in the beautiful sweeps and swirls of his writing. She came up right behind him.

She jumped about a foot in the air when he said, without turning around, "So you are awake. Finally. I do not understand how people feel the need to sleep so long when there are better things to do."

_Well someone's being snarky today_, she thought, but decided that commenting on that would not really be the best idea. So she cast around in her mind for something else to say.

"Um… I thought you might want your cloak back, I mean if you were cold or something…"

Now he did turn around to look at her in surprise. She was holding the cloak out to him. When his eyes met hers, her face went bright red. He took it back slowly.

"Thank you so much for letting me use it. I really appreciate it," she said.

"It is I who should be thanking you," he replied softly. "You slept on the floor so as to give me a place to sleep. Giving you my cloak was the least I could do."

It seemed to her that her small action, which had been done without much thought on her part, meant so much more to him than it would to other people. _Why? Is it because most people just don't do things like that? It's only common courtesy, after all, especially when you are lost and have nowhere else to go. If you're going to be forced on someone as a guest, you should try to avoid taking up too much space. At least that's how I see it._ They looked at each other in silence for a moment.

When it started getting awkward, he said, "The ballet rats are returning to the opera house this afternoon." She nodded. There was no point in asking how he knew. He seemed to realize something and said hurriedly, "Not to offend you with the title, Angelique. I do not mean to belittle you or any of the other girls, it is just that–"

She cut him off. "I completely understand. Some of them are… not the smartest. I admit that, even though they are my friends. I don't see the name as derogatory or anything like that. You don't have to apologize, _Angel_."

The corner of his lips lifted slightly into a small smile. He was obviously remembering what she had given as the definition of the word. She felt a little guilty for not telling him the whole truth, but the definition definitely applied to him.

"Your breakfast is on the table. I apologize since it has gotten a little cold –"  
"Don't. The fact that you made breakfast at all since you don't eat much gives me no reason to complain. Breakfast is good cold."

He dipped his head in a nod as she went off to eat. As she ate, he started playing his music again. She put down her fork, closed her eyes, and let herself be swept away by the beauty of his playing. There were pauses occasionally as he stopped to write things down, but otherwise she was completely lost in the music. Then there was a long period of silence. Her whole body was engaged in listening and so she jumped when he spoke.

"The ballet girls have returned, Angelique."

Her eyes opened. "I should get back," she said worriedly. "They'll probably be wondering where I am."

"I will take you most of the way back to them. Please understand that I cannot let myself be seen by anyone, so I will show you the rest of the way from there."

"Of course."

He took her hand and led her out of his lair by the dark archway that he had left by the first day. "What, no boat?" she asked teasingly as they entered the tunnel.

He looked at her. "This way is faster. Would you rather take the boat?"

She smiled. "No, this is all right. I was just teasing you."

"Teasing…" He said the word like it was a foreign object he had never heard of before. She guessed that he had never really been teased. Every time anyone said something like that they were probably serious. Had he ever really learned how to laugh?

They continued walking in silence for a while. To Alison, all of the tunnels looked exactly the same, but there were obviously differences that he noticed that showed him where to turn. Eventually, he stopped abruptly in the middle of the tunnel and said, "This is as far as I can take you. You only have to go straight and you will be near the top of the stairs in the entrance hall. Goodbye."

The abruptness of his farewell surprised her. As he turned to go, she felt a sense of panic. "Wait!" He whipped back around as if he had almost been waiting for her call.

"What is it?"

"Is there a possibility that we might… maybe… see each other again?"

He raised his eyebrows. She felt like she wanted to shrivel up and die. _I shouldn't have said anything_, she mentally berated herself. _I should have just been content with staying in his house for a little while. He's not going to want to have contact with me. Why would he? I completely invaded his privacy and made him upset._

Erik was shocked speechless and trying very hard to hide it. She had asked him the question that had been on the tip of his tongue as he had walked away. She was obviously expecting an answer, though, so he managed to get out, "Yes, I would like that very much. Come to the prima donna's dressing room – you do know where that is?"

She could hardly believe her ears. "Yes," she said.

"Come there when you wish to see me."

"Does once a week work for you? Maybe on Sundays? Unless that's too much, I mean I'm sure you're really busy…"

"Once a week is wonderful. I shall see you next Sunday, then."

"All right. Bye." She smiled at him. "And thanks again."

"You are very welcome. Goodbye."

They both walked off in opposite directions, the same triumphant thoughts playing through both of their heads. _I never thought that was actually going to be successful! I can't wait for Sunday._

She walked straight down the tunnel and straight into a door. "Owwwww," she muttered. "I really need to be more careful where I step, especially when I can't see anything. This is the second time I've done something stupid like that in these tunnels." By feeling around the door a little, she was eventually able to locate a knob and turned it to step out into the light.

Immediately she threw her hands up to block the glare. After being underground for two days, her eyes were not used to the brightness of sunlight and she spent a couple of minutes stumbling around trying to get her eyes to adjust. "I can't see in the darkness, and I can't see in the light. I really can't win, can I?" she grumbled. She blinked rapidly a couple of times and set off to look for the rest of the ballet school and Madame Giry.

It didn't take her long to find them. Thirty-nine girls make a lot of noise. Paulette, who had become a special friend, spotted her first. Her eyes widened, then she called, "Madame Giry! Madame Giry, I found her! She's here!" Madame Giry materialized next to her and looked where she had been pointing. When she saw Alison, she ran over to her.

"Where have you been, Angelique? We have been looking for you everywhere!"

Alison smiled apologetically. "I got locked in here by accident when I went back to get something. Don't worry; I've been perfectly all right in here. I'm only sorry that I had to miss Swan Lake."

Madame Giry narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "You spent two days in here all by yourself? You did not… meet anyone?"

Alison knew what Madame Giry meant. She considered for a moment whether it would be wiser to tell her where she had spent the time or not, but figured that Erik (or _Angel_, as she was now calling him) would probably tell her anyway, so she thought it would be better to stick with the truth. "It depends on what you mean by 'met someone', Madame. Nobody has come in or out of the building in the last two days." Which, of course, was the truth. Just not all of it.

Madame Giry nodded. Alison had no idea whether she had guessed what had happened or not, but she supposed she would find out in time. "How was Swan Lake?"

Some of the girls heard her question and began enthusiastically praising absolutely everything about it, from the dancing to the red velvet curtains of the theater. Soon, the whole group of girls was drawn in, all talking at once trying to tell her all the details. She was swept up in the mass and they all walked to the dormitory together, talking excitedly and laughing. Alison prayed that they would get so distracted in their praise that no one would recall her absence.

And no one seemed to. Except for Madame Giry.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

The days until Sunday seemed endlessly long for both Erik and Alison. Neither of them really understood why. Each tried to chalk it up to other things. Erik discounted it to the fact that he didn't have much human contact. Alison just thought it was because he was the Phantom of the Opera, and let's face it, being invited to his lair is every phangirl's dream.

But on Sunday, Alison woke up at 4:30. _Today is the day!_ she thought. _I'm going to see him again!_ Then she immediately felt guilty. She hadn't thought about Patrick since… well, since coming here. _But Erik's just a friend,_ she reminded herself. _It's not like anything's going on there. It's not fair or right to compare him to Patrick at all because they both have different relationships with me. _They met in the dressing room at seven o'clock and he took her down to his lair again. They spent several hours together, getting to know each other and talking about their lives.

This became a weekly practice and before long, they both found themselves living for those Sundays. Little by little, Alison managed to coax him out of his shell and make him less reserved around her until the memorable day when she finally got him to laugh.

Alison intrigued Erik. She was one of the only people he had met who had looked at him as a man rather than a ghost or monster. She seemed genuinely interested in his wellbeing and feelings. He told her all about his life and his travels though Europe, but there was one subject neither of them mentioned. Christine. And as she told him about more of her past, he began to notice that she became evasive about some parts of her life. He guessed that she most likely had a good reason for this, and never asked her about it. He, too, had his secrets.

For Alison's part, she loved hearing about Erik's past. His life seemed so interesting and he had done so many things, but he had also seen so much pain. With each story he told, she felt more compassion for him. So many people had despised him and treated him badly and it made her sad. She was intensely curious about what he thought and had to say about his time with Christine, but she knew that the subject would most likely be painful and decided not to ask him about it. When it came to talking about herself, she told him as much as she could. It was a struggle for her to hide the fact that she was from the future and she had to choose each word she said carefully in order to keep him from suspecting her true origins. Fortunately, he had never been to America, so she was able to convince him that some of the stranger parts of her narratives were simply a product of the culture differences between Europe and America.

Weeks passed, months passed, seasons flew, and soon it had been a year since she had fallen from her college room into the Opera Populaire. She was very well established in the world of the opera house and enjoyed her Sundays when she got to see Erik, or Angel, as she called him. Her life proceeded with regularity and she loved almost every minute of it. Until her peaceful existence was shattered by the arrival of Christine.

For weeks there had been rumors of a great guest artist coming to sing at the Opera Populaire. Nobody knew who it was, which was rare, because secrets were never kept for too long there. Even Erik didn't know who it was going to be. Everyone waited with anticipation to see just who would be singing in the latest performance.

The day she arrived started out innocently enough. Everyone was extremely excited for the secret to finally be revealed, Alison included. They all flocked to the entrance hall, pushing and shoving to get a good view of the double doors. Erik watched from a passage in the wall.

The _clip-clop_ of horses' hooves sounded outside. The noise slowed to a halt and a fancy carriage pulled up outside the façade of the opera house. Nobody could quite see the face of the young woman who stepped out of it, but everyone noticed her grace of movement and her beautiful, expensive dress. Then the doors swung open.

The woman had long, curly brown hair and beautiful, long lashed brown eyes. She was very beautiful and immediately all the men were entranced. A smile graced her lips, but her eyes did not fully take part in it. They held a hint of nervousness as they darted around the room, seemingly looking for something. When she did not appear to see it, she relaxed and looked at all those who had congregated to see her with a gracious twinkle in her eye. From where he hid, Erik breathed in sharply with shock. _No_, he thought. _No, no, it cannot be her; they cannot have sent her here from wherever she went with the Vicomte to torture me. Yet another of life's jokes that are never funny. How it loves to cause me pain._ Yet, in his fury and hurt, he couldn't help but notice again how dazzlingly beautiful she was. Her voice floated to his ears in a musical cadence.

"Hello, all of you! It is so lovely to be back here and to be able to sing in such a wonderful place again."

Madame Giry stepped up to her side. "This is Madame Christine Daae de Chagny. She will be singing with us in our latest production of Romeo and Juliet." Everyone clapped enthusiastically. _De Chagny_, Erik thought with a small wrench in his heart. _So she married the fop in the end. I should not have expected anything different._ He watched her, his eyes following her every move as the pain in his heart grew. When it got to the point that he couldn't stand it any more, he stalked off with a swirl of his cape, his mind and heart racing.

Alison was slightly in shock. Even before Madame Giry had introduced her, it had been clear to Alison just who this woman was. She remembered her face from the doll that had stared at her from the curtained alcove in Erik's lair. She had wanted to meet Christine for quite a while now and see what she was really like. _She's probably too high and mighty now to talk to ballet girls, but at least it's worth a try._ Christine floated through the halls of the Opera like a goddess, all the residents of the opera house trailing behind her.

As they approached the prima donna's dressing room, Madame Giry walked quickly up beside Christine. "Please desist from bothering Madame de Chagny. She has traveled a long way and I am sure she needs some rest. Besides, you all have work to do. Go on!" The crowd of people slowly dispersed, leaving Alison, Madame Giry, and Christine alone. Madame Giry looked at Alison. "Did you hear me, Angelique?"

Alison looked at her. "I heard you, Madame Giry. I simply wanted to introduce myself and say something to Chr– I mean Madame de Chagny." She turned to Christine. "Je m'appelle Angelique Taylor."

Christine smiled. "It is very nice to meet you, Mademoiselle Taylor. What was it that you wished to say to me?"

Alison hesitated a second, then said quietly, "I only wished to remind you that your coming here may do damage. More than you might think, perhaps. Sometimes the past would do better to stay dead and buried." She walked away, leaving both Christine and Madame Giry stunned at her words.

She continued the rest of the day like a normal day, but her thoughts were very distracted. She stumbled over steps that should have been easy and her teachers all got upset by her absentmindedness. But she couldn't concentrate on dancing because her mind was full of Erik. What was he feeling about having Christine here again? Was he upset? Angry? She didn't know, but she knew she had to see him as soon as possible.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Alison snuck to a secret tunnel near the small chapel in the opera house. She had stopped using the entrance in the mirror because it led to too many questions and it was hard to sneak into the prima donna's dressing room unnoticed. No one, however, questioned a trip to the chapel. She pressed the switch that opened the door and slipped inside. As she neared Erik's home, she began to hear a soft sobbing that grew louder the farther she went. She eventually stopped at the archway that led into his home.

Erik was crouched on the ground in a small ball, shoulders shaking with the intensity of his sobs. She couldn't see his face, but she could feel the pain emanating from him.

"_Angel?_" she asked quietly, trying not to startle him or bring on his ever-ready temper.

He jumped and spun around to face her, his hand flying to cover the side of his face that was usually masked. Her eyes quickly found the floor. There was nothing in her demeanor that seemed scared to Erik. He realized that her refusal to look at him was her way of giving him a moment to collect himself and replace his mask, which he quickly did. Even in his despair, he felt a small warmth in his chest because of her kindness. He swiped a hand across his eyes, trying to hide the tear tracks on his cheeks. Once he had done so, he cleared his throat and spoke.

"It is not Sunday." He immediately cringed internally at the harshness of his tone.

She looked up at him. "I know."

"Well, if you are here just to talk, I am afraid that this is really not the best time."

"I know that too. I came down here to make sure you were okay."

"What?" Her words threw him completely off guard.

"I mean, I saw Christine come and I know that since she was here before, a lot has happened and I just thought you might be upset because…" She realized then how strange it sounded. Why would he have any reason not to be okay from the things he had told her? _The fact that I came down at all means that I know more than I should about what happened. How am I going to explain this to him? I can't exactly tell him that I watched a musical about his life and that's how I know all this stuff about him._

He looked at her in utter shock for a moment. Then he seemed to remember something. Some of the tension left him and then he sighed. "You recognized her from…" He swept a hand, indicating the alcove where she had found the wedding dress doll. There was something like defeat in his voice.

She relaxed. _Thank God I disobeyed his orders before. Otherwise, I would have no valid reason for suspecting that there was anything wrong._ "Yes," she said softly.

He turned away. "As you may have guessed, her name is Christine Daae," he whispered. The degree of love and pain in his voice when he spoke her name staggered Alison. _I knew that his love for her was intense, but I never realized it was like this. I guess you have to see it to believe it._ It also sent a strange stabbing feeling though her that she didn't understand. It seemed like anger and pain and want, all at the same time. But she wasn't sure why she would be angry or in pain, and what was it that she wanted? An answer came unbidden when she asked herself that question. _I want to hear him say _my_ name like that, _her mind said._ I want- _She cut herself off mid-thought. _I'm not jealous, am I? That would just be weird. What reason would I have for jealousy? I would never want to hurt someone like that._

_But it's the love that you want, _the insidious voice whispered. _You need to shut up,_ she told it. _You have a boyfriend, and besides, you really shouldn't be thinking about this when someone is suffering this way right in front of you, especially when it's someone–_ She shook her head to clear it and focused on the task at hand.

"When I'm feeling sad about something, I always find that talking about it helps."

He turned to look at her, disbelief and slight confusion in his eyes.

"I don't want to invade your privacy," she quickly explained. "If you don't want to tell me, you don't have to. I'm not asking out of curiosity, I'm just trying to help you feel better." She held her breath, hoping that it had not come out the wrong way and maybe he could trust her enough to tell her.

His eyes searched hers. Despite her protest that she was only trying to help, he was not sure whether she was telling the truth. She did seem curious, but that seemed to be overridden by a genuine desire to help. She had heard about his travels and his terrible past, but this was intimate enough to him that he hesitated to tell her. But he had wanted to tell someone, to confide in another human soul. He wanted someone to know his side of the story before all that was known about what had happened was that a scary man kidnapped a poor innocent woman and a dashing hero came down to save her. But no one would listen. The fact that she was interested now made the part of him that starved for human contact happy, despite his heart's sadness. This way of dealing with problems was new to him, since there had been nobody who would help him though it. But he decided that anything was worth a try.

"You have to swear to me that you will not judge me too harshly. I… am not proud of some of the things I have done in this. If I could change it, I would do so in a heartbeat, believe me."

She nodded slightly, feeling as though the smallest movement would make him go back on his decision to trust her.

He gestured to a chair. "Sit. This may take some time."

She obeyed and looked up at him, waiting.

"Christine Daae came to the Opera Populaire as a child of about seven. She had just lost her father and was absolutely heartbroken…"

He talked for hours, telling her every last detail. It was clear to her that he had wanted to tell someone for a long time and the story could no longer contain itself, spilling out of his soul. Most of the things he told her she already knew from the musical or the book, etc. But the way he told it made her feel like she was actually there. It made her heart hurt more than seeing it as an objective viewer. She could feel his pain and at points, tears sprung to her eyes that mirrored those in his. He had to stop and collect himself several times before going on. By the end of his narrative, he was barely able to stop himself from crying long enough to finish.

"She is my life, Angelique. My life and my soul and she left me for another man." Then he began to cry in earnest, trying to stop but having no control over himself anymore. She moved closer and slowly put her arms around him in a hug. His hands came up and held onto the arm that went across his chest, the closest he could come to hugging her back. They sat like that for a long time. She slowly rocked him back and forth, feeling helpless in the face of his suffering. Eventually, his tears slowly dried up. He seemed to fully notice her arms around him for the first time. She blushed and quickly removed them. He swiped a hand over his face in an attempt to clean the tears. She dug into a small pocket in her dress and offered him a handkerchief. He accepted it silently. Once his face was clean, he looked up at her, ashamed.

"I am sorry for that. I–"

"Don't be sorry. Please. You have absolutely nothing to apologize for. It's Christine who should be sorry."

The comment seemed to take him off guard. The pain was still resident in his eyes.

"I am flattered that you think so. Most of the rest of the world does not," he said bitterly. At that moment, she wanted to do anything to chase away his sorrow. Then she thought of something that might.

"When I feel upset, I do things that I love to make me feel better. I know you love music, maybe that might help?"

"It helps most of the time. But sometimes it only makes me sadder."

"Will you maybe… sing for me? Only if you want to, of course, but–"

"Yes." He thought for a moment, and then began to sing. The moment the first note floated from his lips she felt a jolt of surprise. The words to his song were different because they were in French, but the tune was unmistakable.

"Night time sharpens, heightens each sensation

Darkness stirs and wakes imagination

Silently the senses abandon their defenses

Slowly, gently night unfurls its splendor

Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender

Turn your face away from the garish light of day

Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light

And listen to the music of the night"

There was something seductive about the way he sang it, but it seemed like he wasn't even trying. He just was that way and it made her heart beat faster. She could see him forgetting his pain and his suffering, caught up in the swell of music.

"Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams

Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before

Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar

And you'll live as you've never lived before

Softly, deftly, music shall caress you

Hear it, feel it secretly possess you

Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind

In this darkness that you know you cannot fight

The darkness of the music of the night

Let your mind start a journey through a strange new world

Leave all thoughts of the life you knew before

Let your soul take you where you long to be

Only then can you belong to me"

He had been looking at the ground, but now his eyes moved up to meet hers.

"Floating, falling sweet intoxication

Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation

Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in

To the power of the music that I write

The power of the music of the night

You alone can make my song take flight

Help me make the music of the night"

Their eyes locked. Even his gaze on hers sent a thrill through her body. Almost of its own accord, his hand reached up and touched her cheek. Heat filled her cheeks at his touch. She leaned in without thought, without conscious decision. His movements mirrored hers as his hand on her cheek pulled her face closer to his. Her eyes floated closed. She knew what he was going to do, and she wanted it with all of her being, with such intensity it surprised her. Their faces were inches apart when a voice came floating through the tunnel.

"_Hello? Is anyone there? Can someone help me get out of here?"_

They both turned their heads quickly to look at the source of the sound. It was a male voice, and it was most definitely speaking English. Erik stole a quick look at Alison and saw a very strange expression on her face.

"What is it?"

She shook her head. "If I didn't know better, I could have sworn that was…" she mumbled to herself. She hesitated a moment then called out, "_Who is that? Why are you down here?_"

Silence. Then a young man appeared in front of the portcullis-like gate that was for the boat and Alison's eyes went wide. He had brown hair and blue eyes. He seemed utterly confused and lost. Not only that, he was all wet. When she saw him, a mix of emotions rushed through her. She felt guilt and surprise and a twinge of happiness at the same time. Overriding all of those emotions was utter and complete shock.

"_Patrick?_"

_"Alison?"_

_"What are you doing here?"_

**Remember, Patrick is her boyfriend from college. Also, a quick reminder that when their words are in italics, they are speaking English. Please review and tell me what you think!**


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Alison was staring at Patrick. _No_, the logical half of her mind told her. _You are not actually seeing this. Just blink and he'll disappear._ The practical half said, _You're looking. He's right here. Get past the denial and actually start trying to understand this._

Patrick looked irritated. "_I'm kind of trying to figure out why I'm here. I just sort of ended up here about five seconds ago. It was the weirdest thing: your computer was playing Phantom again and I tried to shut it off but it didn't work. I went to close it but I touched the screen by accident and suddenly I found myself here. I'm wet and I'm cold and I don't understand what's going on. And what are you doing here? If this is some kind of joke, it's not very funny."_

She sighed. _"It's not a joke, Patrick."_

_"Then what is it? And please make this quick. I have a paper due tomorrow, so I need to get back to college."_

She looked at him, feeling a terrible pity. She hadn't devoted too much time and energy to actually finding a way home, but one thing had always been pretty clear to her about the situation. _"Patrick, I don't think there is a way back."_

He frowned, trying to be certain of what she had said. _"What do you mean, 'there isn't a way back'? Where is here, anyway?"_

She shifted uncomfortably. _"You probably wouldn't believe me if I told you."_

He looked around, trying to find answers that she didn't seem to be giving, and his eyes found Erik. They narrowed in suspicion.

_"And just who is this?"_

_"Patrick, it's not what you think."_

_"Then please tell me what it is before I come in there and beat him up."_

She laughed.

_"What?"_ he asked, insulted. _"You don't believe me?"_

_"No, I believe that you would try. It's just that the image of _anyone_ coming in and beating him up makes me laugh. But don't actually try it,"_ she added, the smile slipping off her face. _"You'd be dead before you took three steps."_

Now it was Patrick's turn to laugh.

_"Don't laugh, Patrick. I'm perfectly serious."_

"Who is this?" asked Erik.

She turned to him. "_Angel_, this is Patrick, a good friend of mine from home. He got a little bit lost. He's also from America and he doesn't speak any French."

Erik opened his mouth, but Patrick interrupted him.

_"Angel?"_ he asked derisively

_"Patrick, it's really not what you think. Angel is… a nickname. It's not a pet name or anything like that. It's just what I call him because he's never told me his real name. But I do know who he is."_

He raised his eyebrows. _"Then who is he?" _

She turned to Erik. "Do you want me to tell him who you are?"

Erik shook his head firmly. "No."

Alison looked at Patrick. _"I can't tell you who he is, but I can give you a clue."_

_"All right,"_ said Patrick. _"Let's see if I can guess who your mysterious friend is."_

_"Okay. This is my hint. It may sound strange but it's the best hint I can give you right now."_

_"Hit me with it."_ Patrick smirked. _"I bet I'll guess it in five seconds."_

Alison rolled her eyes, and then, to both Erik and Patrick's surprise, began to sing. _"In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came."_

Patrick frowned. _"What kind of hint is this? I don't need to hear you sing this song for… what is it now? The millionth time?"_

She said nothing but kept on singing. _"That voice which calls to me And speaks my name. And do I dream again? For now I find…"_

_"This isn't a hint at all,"_ Patrick complained.

_"The Hmmmmmm hm hmm Hmmm is there." _She flicked her eyes toward Erik and back to Patrick, willing him to understand.

Patrick thought about it. His mind kept leading him to one conclusion, but he kept dismissing that as impossible. _There is no way that could be…_

_"Your hint is ridiculous and misleading. The only thing I can come up with that would make sense based on your hint… is completely impossible."_

_"But if you've come to the right conclusion, it should be impossible."_

Patrick's eyes widened. _"You're not actually saying this guy is the–"_

She cut him off. _"Yes. He doesn't want you to know, though, so I would advise you to keep your discovery to yourself."_

_"But doesn't he know that I know already?"_

She shook her head. _"No. He doesn't speak English. But if you think about it, his title in English sounds very similar to his title in French. So don't say anything to give it away."_

Patrick laughed. _"And here I was thinking that he was a genius… Hold on a second. Why am I even considering this as true?"_

Alison raised her eyebrows. _"Why are you not?"_

Patrick stared at her as though she was out of her mind. _"Because, first, the Ph… he doesn't exist, no matter what Leroux or anybody else says. Second, even if he did exist, he lived in Paris in the late 1800s, not in America in the present day. Ha! I found the flaw in your story. That was a nice lie,"_ and he suddenly became serious, _"but now you actually have to tell me the truth. Who is he?"_

Alison looked at Patrick pityingly and slowly shook her head.

Patrick frowned. _"What is it?"_

_"I told you you wouldn't believe me if I explained where we were."_

Patrick froze. _"You're not actually serious, are you?"_

_"Yes, Patrick. We are in Paris, France, and the year is 1874."_

There was a long silence. Then: _"WHAT? No, no, no. That's impossible. These things only happen in movies, right?"_ Patrick looked at Alison like a child, pleading to be told that this was just a dream or some kind of joke. Unfortunately, she could tell him no such thing.

_"I'm sorry, Patrick. I know this is crazy, but I've been living here for a year and–"_

Patrick held up his hands. _"Whoa. A year? You've only been missing for eighteen days! How could it have been a year?"_

Alison thought about this. _"So I guess time moves differently here. That's very strange. But like I was saying, I know lots of people and I know my way around here pretty well. I can find you a place to stay and everything."_

Patrick sighed. _"Well it's not like I have a lot of choices right now. So I guess I'll come with you."_

Erik cleared his throat. "Will one of you please explain what is happening? What was this Patrick so surprised about? How did he find his way down here?"

Alison thought quickly. She knew she couldn't tell him where she was really from. Not yet, anyway. "He didn't know where he was and he was surprised to find that he was in Paris." She knew it was lame as soon as she said it, but she couldn't really think of a better excuse. "I need to find him somewhere to sleep. I should probably take him back up before he sees anything more than he should."

Erik nodded.

Her eyes grew worried. "Do you feel okay enough for me to leave you on your own? Patrick is less important to me than your wellbeing right now."

"I will be fine, thanks to you. I shall find my own way of dealing with the problem. Thank you for hearing my story, but I think it is best that you go now."

The concern in her eyes lessened, but only a little. "Okay. Just remember that if you need to talk about it, I'll always be here. Leave me a note or something and I'll come as soon as I can."

"Thank you. You should take care of your friend now, though."

"Bye, _Angel_." She leaned forward impulsively and gave him a hug.

He held her for a second and released her quickly, his cheeks slightly pink. "Goodbye, Angelique."

Alison turned towards Patrick, who had a skeptical look in his eyes. _"Just friends, hmm?"_

Alison rolled her eyes. _"Yes, Patrick. I've got a perfect right to hug my friends, I think. Now come on, let me get you out of here."_

She led him to the archway in the side of the wall and down the tunnel. As they walked, she filled him in on the daily life of the opera house and the names of people that he would meet. Patrick noticed how happy she seemed when she spoke about her life. She seemed to have adjusted very well to an entirely different time.

Suddenly, she stopped dead in the middle of the hall. _"I forgot! We need to give you a cover identity!"_

It sounded like something from a spy movie. _"What? Why?"_

She looked at him like it should be obvious. _"Well, I can't exactly introduce you as my boyfriend. First of all, boyfriends don't really exist in this time, and secondly, people wouldn't really understand why I hadn't said anything about it before."_ There was a third reason, one that she wouldn't admit to Patrick. She didn't want Erik to know exactly what their relationship was. Before this, she had thought of him as only a friend. She had felt compassion for him and had enjoyed being around him. But tonight's events had turned everything upside down for her. The scene kept playing over and over in her head. Even the thought of the way he had touched her cheek made her heart beat faster. She kept imagining what might have happened had Patrick not come, but immediately felt bad. _Patrick is my boyfriend, not Erik_, she reminded herself. But she couldn't keep her mind from dwelling on Erik. She had never felt like this about anyone before, including Patrick. _There's no time to think about that now,_ she scolded herself. _Get Patrick settled enough and figure this out on your own time._

_"So what's my 'cover identity'?"_ Patrick asked sarcastically. _"A criminal on the run from the law?"_

_"Nothing that elaborate. We'll just say you're my cousin. I told them I was from a rich family who didn't want me to do ballet so that they would take me in. How about… your parents died so you were living with my parents. They sent you to look for me but you didn't actually want to bring me back because you saw how happy I was. But you are too scared to go back without me, so you need somewhere to stay for a while. How does that sound?"_

Patrick considered it. _"I guess I could do it, provided you give me a more satisfactory explanation for all of this at some point."_

_"I'll try. But I don't understand most of it either so I'll just have to do the best I can."_

When they reached the end of the tunnel, Alison stopped Patrick. _"Just remember that they don't like rich people, especially ones that don't speak their language. Don't look at anyone the wrong way and let me do all the talking. Got it?"_

_"Yeah, I got it."_

They stepped out of the tunnel into the hallway near the chapel. _"Madame Giry's office is this way. Follow me."_ Alison strode purposefully down the hallway… and right into Madame Giry. Her eyes went wide. "Oh my – I'm so sorry, Madame! I was just looking for you."

Madame Giry fixed her with a disapproving stare. "As I was looking for you. You have been gone for hours. Why is it always you who manages to give us all a heart attack, Angelique?"

Angelique looked down. "I'm sorry, Madame."

Patrick rounded the corner. _"What's going on?"_

Madame Giry frowned. "Who is your… friend?"

"This is my cousin, Madame." Alison repeated the story she had come up with to explain Patrick's presence. Madame Giry nodded.

"He can stay here for a while, provided he earns his keep. He can work as one of the stagehands and he will sleep with them as well."

Alison smiled. "Thank you, Madame."

"There is nothing to thank me for, my child. The Opera Populaire is simply gaining another worker, nothing more."

Alison turned to Patrick. _"We're all good. You now have a job as a stagehand. Don't screw it up or I'll be the one who answers for it."_

**__****I hope I've explained Patrick's presence in a satisfactory way. Please review!**


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Patrick had much more trouble settling in than Alison had because he was slow to learn the language and so had trouble communicating with others in the opera house. His coworkers didn't like him all that much at first because of his pretended heritage, but eventually they came to accept him and they even developed a degree of friendship. Since both he and Alison were very busy, they didn't get to see each other very much, but he managed to get hold of her on her day off as she was going to see Erik. He caught her arm as she was about to open the secret door that led down to the lair by the lake.

_"Come on," _he whispered. _"Let's go to the roof where we can be alone."_

The implications of his word choice were not lost on Alison, and she hesitated. _"I have to go meet with someone,"_ she said, unsure.

_"Please,"_ Patrick crooned persuasively. _"It'll be just us two and I haven't really talked to you in so long."_

Alison sighed. She knew she owed it to Patrick because he was her boyfriend. With one last glance at the entrance to the tunnels, she followed him without protest.

They made their way up to the top of the opera house, opened the door that led out, and stepped onto the rooftop. A large statue of Apollo holding his lyre in the air dominated the roof. They slipped around it and looked out onto the stunning eagle-eye view of the city of Paris. It was a beautiful summer day and the air felt fresh and clean. The sun gave everything in sight a bright glow. Everything, that is, except the area behind the statue, where a cloaked, dark figure stood watching. As soon as the door swung shut behind them, Patrick took Alison into his arms.

_"It's been quite a while since we did this,"_ he whispered. _"I've missed you, darling."_

There wasn't really any way she could respond to that. She hadn't missed him all that much while she had been here. Lately, she had begun to realize that her attraction to Patrick had been simply that, an attraction. It was not love. But now, she was pretty sure that she knew what love truly was because she felt it for Erik. He filled her mind and even his slightest accidental touch sent light all throughout her body. Fortunately, she didn't have to say anything to contradict Patrick as he pressed his lips to hers.

The figure behind the statue felt a sense of emptiness shoot through him. He felt as though he had lost something that he didn't know he had. Even though the sight hurt him in ways he couldn't understand, he continued to watch the couple on the roof.

Alison tolerated Patrick's kiss for as long as she could, but eventually she couldn't stand it anymore. She broke away from the kiss and turned her back to him, trying not to see his look of hurt surprise.

_"Patrick, I'm sorry, I –"_

_"What do you mean, 'you're sorry'? What's going on?"_

_"I'm just not feeling anything with you anymore. It was nice to be with you before, but I've grown up, Patrick. I've changed."_ She stopped.

_"Wait. You're breaking up with me?"_ he asked in total, utter disbelief.

She sighed. _"Yes."_

_"But… but why?"_

Her eyes were troubled. She turned around and looked at him. _"I just… don't feel for you what I did when we first started going out. I've spent a year here and I've changed so much. I'm a different person from the girl you asked out. I've moved on. I'm sorry."_

He couldn't think of anything to say. He just stared at her, unable to comprehend what she was saying.

_"I'm not going to ask if we could still be friends. That would be too much . But if we could at least see each other as friends from time to time I would consider myself lucky. We still have to keep up the cousin façade, but if you want I'll stay away from you as much as possible. I'm sorry. I never wanted to hurt you and I think that staying with you now would just cause you more pain. I hope you can forgive me."_

Silence.

There was too much to say, but nothing else she could say.

_"Goodbye, Patrick."_ She turned and left the roof, leaving him stunned and hurting behind her. The shadow that watched from the statue was left confused. He had always considered the English language a harsh and unlovely one, but now it reached his ear in the beauty of light even though he didn't understand a word. A spark of hope stirred that seemed to come from the sight before him. Why would he feel such hope from watching Angelique walk away from the young man she had introduced as her friend? Why had it hurt so much when they had kissed? Troubled, he buried those thoughts deep in his mind to think about another day. And with a swirl of his cloak, he was gone, as if he had never been there.

Patrick stared after Alison. Gradually, his mind came to accept what she had just done, but the pain was unbearable. _Why? Why had she suddenly broken up with him after coming here?_ His mind came to one conclusion: she was seeing somebody else. The thought filled him with rage that grew steadily stronger as he stood looking at the closed door. _I will find who it is,_ he promised himself. _And I will make him pay for stealing my girlfriend. _A phrase came to mind that seemed oddly appropriate for the situation.

_"Now let there be war upon you both!"_ he whispered. He stalked off, away from the rooftop, back into the bowels of the opera house.

Alison, running down the stairs, was trying to hold back tears. Not at breaking up with Patrick, but at hurting him. Their earlier relationship was enough that she still cared for him; she simply didn't love him anymore. But if she was able to push aside his pain from her mind, she felt lightness and freedom inside her soul. Now she was free to do whatever she wanted romantically. And "whatever she wanted," meant Erik. She had tried to deny to herself that what she felt for him was more than close friendship and compassion. After he had almost kissed her, however, she had been unable to push away her attraction for him. When she had visited him the next day, he had treated her the same as always, but with a little more respect. There was no hint that he liked her in any more than a friendly way, and it sent a crack through her heart. _There has been too many people I have hoped could be with me, but none has ever really cared,_ she reflected bitterly. _How can I be sure that I can even get him to love me? He's probably still in love with Christine, even though she will probably never love him back._ She shook herself. _Don't think like that,_ she scolded. _Now that I have no obligations to Patrick, I can actually try to get Erik to love me._ A smile broke across her lips at the thought. She skipped to the ballet dormitory, humming.

No one noticed the change in Alison and Patrick's relationship. They hid it far too well for that. But sometimes, when she wasn't paying attention, she caught his longing look and knew that he was not over her. She felt terrible, but there was nothing she could do to make him feel better short of being his girlfriend again, and she had no intention of doing that.

One day, as rehearsals were ending, Christine approached Alison.

"Excuse me, I did not quite catch your name."

Alison looked around in surprise. Why was Christine coming to talk to her now, three weeks after she had arrived? "My name is Angelique."

Christine nodded. "Angelique," she repeated. "A lovely name."

They stood in silence for a moment.

"Is there something you want with me, Chr- Madame de Chagny?"

Christine hesitated. "Yes, actually. I have been thinking a lot about what you said to me when I came."

Alison put up a hand. "We probably shouldn't talk about something like that here. There are too many ears to hear things they shouldn't."

"Of course. Would you come with me, Angelique?" From the way Christine said it, it was clear that this was not an option. Christine turned and walked away, beckoning Alison to follow her. Alison ran to catch up.

She followed Christine, not noticing where they were going, and was surprised when Christine stopped outside the door to the prima donna's dressing room. She opened the door and slipped inside. Alison hesitated at the threshold.

"If you were looking for somewhere that he can't hear us, maybe we might want to go somewhere else."

Christine's face paled, and her breath became faster. Her eyes darted about the room in the same way that they had when she first arrived. With a visible effort, she managed to calm herself.

"I learned long ago that there is nowhere in this place where he cannot hear us. There is no point in attempting to find somewhere. My only goal was to get us away from other people."

Alison knew that Christine's point was valid, especially considering what had happened with Christine and Raoul's tryst on the rooftop. She stepped into the dressing room and shut the door behind her. Christine gestured to a chair and sat down herself. Alison hesitantly slid into the chair and waited for Christine to speak.

There was a long silence as Christine's eyes searched Alison's. Then she began to speak, all in a rush.

"I know that my presence may hurt him, I just felt that I had to come to show him that I am not afraid. He scares me so, Angelique! I am afraid of what he might do, what he might say. But I cannot allow him to control my mind. I cannot let him invade my nightmares any longer. I have come back so that he will release his hold on me and then I can be free of him."

Alison sat and stared for a moment. "Madame de Chagny–"

"Christine, please."

Alison tried again. "Christine, I don't think there's anything you need to be afraid of. It's not like he's going to hurt you. If he wanted to, he would have done so by now. And besides–"

Christine wailed and buried her face in her hands. "I know! I know. But I am afraid of the power of his voice. It can make me do things… can make me think things that I do not want to think or do. I need your help."

Alison frowned. "What would I do to help?"

"I need you to keep me sane in the face of his attacks."

"Attacks? Christine, I don't–"

Christine cut her off. "I need you to remind me of what I think and feel periodically. Remind me that I love Raoul and the kind of life that will be waiting for me. Remind me that my thoughts are my own. Help me retain my will!"

Alison hesitated. "Christine, I really –"

Christine looked at her desperately. "Please! I need someone to do this who understands. You seem to know something about him, enough that you approached me about it. He is everywhere, taking over my soul. If you do not help me, I do not know what I will do!" Her eyes pleaded, reaching into the deepest recesses of Alison's heart. Alison fought their pull for a moment, then sighed.

"Fine. I'll protect you from the big, bad, scary ghost."

A brilliant smile split Christine's face. _Clearly, she doesn't understand sarcasm,_ Alison thought. Christine grabbed Alison's hand. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! You do not know how much this means. All I need you to do is talk to me sometimes, be the person I can go to when something happens with him."

Alison nodded reluctantly. She didn't like this agreement at all. _What if the things she tells me hurt him? I can't just sit there and let her talk about him like this. And I'm never going to be able to convince her that he's not actually going to randomly pop up and kidnap her. She has broken his heart far too much for that. He wouldn't dare approach her now. She's just being a little bit of a ditz, but it's not like that's anything new._

_ I'm getting the feeling that I'm going to regret agreeing to this._


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

The next Sunday she slipped out of the dormitories at the usual time, attempting to avoid everyone else, including Christine. She didn't want to run into Christine today of all days. She hadn't seen Erik since before she broke up with Patrick and she had missed him terribly. No one, she decided, would get in the way of this visit.

She snuck to the chapel and slipped inside the secret door. She all but ran down the tunnels, picking her way to Erik's home without missing a step or triggering a single trap. She stopped in front of the entrance, her breath coming fast. She quickly smoothed down her hair and straightened her clothes. She felt suddenly, inexplicably nervous. _Don't be silly,_ she scolded herself. _It's just a normal visit. You do this every Sunday. Why is this such a big deal all of a sudden?_ She shook her head to clear it and stepped into the lair.

Erik was sitting at his desk, drawing. He was completely focused on the paper in front of him and didn't seem to even realize she was there.

"Hey," she called to him.

He jumped and turned around. "Hello, Angelique. I did not realize you were… is it seven o'clock already?"

She smiled a small, tight smile. "Yes, _angel_, it is."

"I am sorry," he said, looking contrite. "I simply lost track of the time."

She walked over to the desk. "What are you drawing?" He gave no answer, but held the drawing out for her to see. With a sinking feeling, she recognized Christine's features, captured perfectly on the paper. She closed her eyes and let out a breath through her pinched lips. He didn't seem to notice and put the drawing back on his desk, making minor adjustments to it as he did so.

She looked up at him. "How have you been?"

He sighed. "Better. But I still cannot stop thinking about her," he admitted sheepishly.

"I would like to remind you what I said, that she's not worth your time. She rejected you and married the Vicomte. She left you without a single goodbye. She doesn't care about you at all." She saw him wince and softened her words. "I'm sorry. It's just that I think it would be better for you to move on and forget Christine."

He looked up, almost horrified. "Forget Christine? I could never! I love her too much to even try. She is so beautiful and perfect and–"

She cut him off. "Yes, I know." She strove to keep her voice from wobbling and giving her pain away. _I should have realized that this would be painful. I just hope that all of our time together after this won't be this bad._

"Are you all right?" he asked, suddenly concerned.

She gave him an over-bright smile. "Of course! Why in the world would you think I wouldn't be?"

He frowned. "There is no reason in particular. I just thought… but it is not important. As to what I was saying before, even if I did forget Christine, what else would there be to do besides music? Now that I have had this contact with her, how could I go without it? Who could I ever love besides her?"

She bit her lip, trying to stave off the tears that sprang to her eyes at his unthinking words. _Could you even try?_ she wanted to say. _Could you love me? You don't know how much I care about you: even if I told you, it wouldn't even matter to you. You only have eyes for your beautiful Christine. I broke up with Patrick to be with you; when are you going to see that I love you?_

She turned away, determined not to let him see the hurt etched on her face. She was too proud for that. She would continue to be his friend and continue trying to convince him that there was more out there for him than Christine.

And she tried. But he didn't make it easy. Every day that she saw him, he would always either be crying over Christine or talking nonstop about how wonderful she was. Each time her name left his mouth, it tore a small hole in her heart. She would comfort him and listen to his ramblings, trying to be as good a friend to him as she could, while still trying to get him to understand that Christine wasn't good enough for him. It hurt more each time he refused to listen to her words.

To make matters worse, she was having daily chats with Christine, which mostly consisted of Christine moaning and fearfully looking around the room, as if expecting Erik to appear any moment and kidnap her. She would talk about how she felt him watching her and how scared she was that he would attempt to force his way back into her life again. "I feel him watching me all the time now," she would say. "His eyes follow me everywhere and they frighten me so! Oh, how I wish Raoul was here to protect me." Then she would smile at Alison. "But I have you to protect me now. You will keep him away, won't you?" She looked like a pleading child, and under the naïveté of that gaze, Alison could do little else but agree and give Christine a hug.

_I don't understand why Erik fell in love with her, _Alison would often reflect. _She's a naïve child with no brain and very little to recommend her other than her looks and her voice. Although I suppose I'm not being completely fair to her, since I would probably find something to criticize in her even if she were the most perfect person in the world, simply because of the place she holds in Erik's heart. But she irritated me as a character even before I fell in love with Erik._

Day after day, Alison sat and listened to her, playing the part of the patient friend and, at times, nurturing mother. She held back her anger, frustration, and pain at Christine's attitude towards the man who had given up everything for her. Christine's words opened wider the hole that Erik had made in Alison's heart. Months went by in this way and Alison knew that it wouldn't be long before her heart broke altogether; she just hoped that nothing horrible would come out of it.

The break came quite suddenly one day as she was trying once again to convince Erik that he should just get over Christine. Erik had become increasingly irritated with Alison's efforts. Every time they saw each other, she kept insisting that he was too good for Christine, and that bothered Erik. It chafed at his sense of himself and his love for Christine. So when she broached the subject with him for the millionth time (at least, that's what it felt like to him) he snapped.

"DAMN YOU! CAN YOU NOT SEE THAT I WILL _NEVER_ STOP LOVING CHRISTINE?"

She shrank back wide-eyed from his outburst.

"I do not understand what your intent is in telling me the same things over and over again. Christine is not "not good enough for me," it is I who is not good enough for her! Do not try to lie to me on that score. I know all too well what I am, there is no use trying to tell me differently. Your constant… _nagging_ about this is getting on my last nerve. I will never love anyone but Christine and that is final. Do you understand?"

She looked at him for a moment, unmoving. There was something shocked and fragile in her eyes. Before he could determine exactly what it was, it was gone, replaced by calm coolness.

"I see." Her voice was frigid. "There is no changing your opinion. I can see that I've been wasting my time."

He frowned. He hadn't been expecting that response. He sensed that he had deeply hurt something inside her and realized that he needed to make it right. He put his hands out in a gesture that was the closest to an apology he could get. "Angelique…"

She stepped away from him. "No. It's all right. You've made yourself very clear. I think I'll just… go now."

With a rigid back, she walked stiffly to the arch in the wall and disappeared into the blackness. "Angelique, wait!"

He sat down hard, let out a breath, and put his head in his hands. _I think I just did something very, very wrong. But why do I feel so bad about asserting my love for Christine?_ His conviction in his love wavered. He frowned. This was wrong. He would love Christine forever and that was that.

Suddenly an idea occurred to him. He knew exactly what would help him remember why he had fallen in love with Christine in the first place. _Maybe it will ease this strange guilt. _He got up decisively, and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.

Alison stumbled along the tunnels, blinded by the tears she was so desperately trying to hold back. Her foot caught on a rock and sent her sprawling. _I'm lying on the floor in the dark again, just as I was when he found me. That was the beginning. This will be the end._

_ I've shed enough tears over him and he has made it very clear that he will never love me. There is no point in torturing myself by spending time with someone I can never have. That will be the last time I see him. _She brushed herself off, all hints of tears gone from her eyes. She looked at the tunnel behind her one last time. "Goodbye, Erik," she whispered, allowing the pain and vulnerability to show in her eyes for a split second. Then she turned around and strode down the tunnel to the world above, without looking back.

**I'm sorry if this chapter is a little choppy in places. But please review!**


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

She slowly walked to the dormitory, her mind still accepting that she would never see Erik again. _I've made my decision; it's done with._ But she couldn't stop it from hurting. She turned the last corner and walked straight into Christine. Christine looked pale and her breath was coming fast.

"There you are, Angelique! I have been looking for you everywhere. Come to the dressing room, I need to talk to you."

With that she ran off. Alison closed her eyes. _I don't want to get involved in this again. I promised myself that I wouldn't waste more time on him, but somehow fate manages to put him in my way all the time!_ She let out a long-suffering sigh and sprinted after Christine.

When they arrived in the dressing room, Christine shut the door firmly and turned to face Alison. "I heard him again. He whispered my name! Oh God, how his voice touched my soul, just the way it always used to. He still has so much control over me and it scares me. That is the first contact he has had with me since I arrived. Does it mean that he is coming to take me away? I never want to go down into that darkness again. Please, Angelique, help me, protect me from him!"

Angelique bit her lip. "I don't think that just because he said your name he's suddenly going to pop up and kidnap you," she said in a patient voice. _That's because he's made it very clear that he's never going to love anyone but you and that he loves you too much to randomly kidnap you like that. It's not fair! Why does he have to be in love with an idiot like her? No. Stop thinking like this. You will have nothing to do with him. He can love whoever he damn pleases. It's no business of mine. I don't care what he does._ She attempted to convince herself. _I don't care._ She shook herself and tried to listen to Christine again. She started paying attention just in time to hear Christine say, "… and I wish that someone would come and take him away so that I will never have to feel his presence again–"

Christine's last sentence broke though the indifference Alison had tried to put up to shield herself.

"You know, I really wish you would stop that," she said in a conversational tone.

Christine frowned. "Stop what?" The ignorance of her question toppled Alison's last barriers.

"STOP TALKING ABOUT HIM LIKE HE'S JUST A SCARY PERSON WHO HIDES IN WALLS!" Christine was blown away by the emotion in her voice.

Alison began to let out all the pent-up frustration of the past months. "You spend all this time complaining about how 'he always follows me' and 'I can feel him everywhere'." She said these parts in a childish mockery of Christine's voice. "It's ridiculous! You only see him as 'the Opera Ghost' the way the whole world sees him. And I would think that you, of all people, would know differently.

"You always seem to be afraid that he will hurt you in some way. He taught you through the walls for quite a long time, and I ask you, did he ever hurt you in any way? Try to make any improper advances until you _asked_ him to reveal himself?"

Christine shook her head timidly.

Alison nodded in grim satisfaction. "I thought not. He did nothing but give you all of his heart and love you. And, in return, you denied him and betrayed him with Raoul!" A small part in Alison's mind sang quietly, _He was bound to love you…_ The rest of it was too angry to acknowledge the reference. "You pranced around like a stupid child, fearing someone who never gave you any cause to fear him besides what you brought on yourself! You know how you did that? You took off the mask! That was the stupidest thing I've ever seen anyone do. What were you thinking? 'Oh, the guy who pretended to be my angel is wearing a mask. That couldn't be for any particular reason, now could it? So let's just take it off and see!' But that isn't even the thing that irritates me the most.

"You were just so _blind_ about how much he loved you. He did everything for you. If he hadn't made you famous, your precious Vicomte would never have noticed you. Don't try to protest that fact," she added, seeing the contradiction in Christine's eyes. "You and I both know how true that is. He gave you a voice and did whatever it took to let you shine. Raoul would _never_ have done that in a million years. The Phantom did all these things for you and you don't even acknowledge a single one. You don't even call him by his name! You never knew it, did you? Of course you didn't. You wouldn't have bothered to ask. But I won't tell you, because you don't deserve to know it. You made the stupid decision. You chose the stupid, foppish pansy rather than the genius who loved you with all of his heart." Alison's mind whispered, _Chose beauty and youth over genius and art…_ She didn't want to acknowledge the second reference she had made in as many minutes, so she kept on with her speech. "You know why you did it? You were just afraid. You always go to what's safe. Because it's all about you, isn't it? Everyone has to cater to the whim of the beautiful Christine Daae! Oh excuse me, _Christine de Chagny_.

"You had everything a woman could wish for: a great career, thousands of adoring fans, and, most importantly, _true love_. But that wasn't enough for you, was it? You wanted a handsome, rich husband, and you got one. There was a price, though. You had everything and you threw it away with both hands for a pretty face and a full purse."

Christine looked outraged. "That's not true! I love Raoul very much–"

Alison looked skeptical. "Yeah, sure. I'll pretend to believe you. But you had something you didn't even know you had. You had the most wonderful admirer there could ever be. Would you like me to describe him to you?"

Christine frowned and nodded.

"He is kind, kind enough to take in a lost girl he didn't even know. He is the smartest person there ever was, smarter even than Einstein– oh wait, he doesn't exist yet." Alison added, noticing the confused look on Christine's face.

"He isn't afraid to feel emotion, like so many guys are. If you can get him to trust you (which is very hard), he will tell you his emotions and not hide from you most of the time. Do you even know how rare that is? Of course you don't.

"He's brave and he's musical and he's _wonderful_. He's handsome, even though I know he doesn't think he his. That's the worst part. He has absolutely no self-esteem. He thinks he's a monster, but he's so wrong. And you know why he thinks that? Mostly thanks to _you_ and other blind people like you who choose to focus on what they see, not what's there."

Christine frowned. "I do not know who it is that you are talking about, but–"

Alison cut her off. "Of course, he also has a large temper. But nobody's perfect. I guess he has to have some flaws; otherwise he would literally be the most perfect person on the planet. There's one more wonderful thing about him that I neglected to mention. He's got the most beautiful voice you ever heard in your life. Almost…angelic."

Christine's eyes widened. "You can't possibly mean…"

"Oh yes, I do. But the thing about you is that you didn't even know who I was talking about until I mentioned the last thing. And I bet you don't even care. No, because you wish that 'someone would come and take him away'. You don't care how much you've broken his heart. You haven't seen him like I have, crying and broken because of _you_." Alison's finger stabbed the air towards Christine.

"Wait a moment," said Christine slowly. "The way you talk about him… it is almost as if you… never mind. That would be impossible."

Alison turned to Christine. "Impossible? That's all in perspective. But go on. Say what you were thinking. Say it, if you have the courage."

"It is almost as if you… as if you love him," Christine whispered.

Alison closed her eyes for a moment. "Oh, good for you for figuring that out so quickly. Gold star!" she said sarcastically. Then her eyes opened and her voice was softer for a moment. "Yes," she admitted. "Yes, I love him. More than I've ever loved anyone else in the world. He makes me want to be… different. Better. So that I could even come close to deserving him, which I know I don't."

Then she grew angry again. "And that's why your words frustrate me so much. You treat the man I love like _garbage_. I have to run back and forth and back and forth between you two. I listen to him cry about how you broke his heart and talk about how wonderful and perfect you are. Then I go to you and all you can say is how scary he is." Tears began to start in her eyes. "And it _kills_ me, to see how much he loves you and how much you don't care about him. He's pinned his heart on the ice queen who loves nobody but herself. The worst part is that he's so much in love with you that he won't see how much I love him. I spend all this time with him and I know in my heart that he will never look at me the way I look at him; never love me the way I love him." She closed her eyes, trying to fight back the moisture that had suddenly appeared and threatened to spill over in her eyes. "I should have made my peace with that, but I can't seem to." She seemed to be talking more to herself than to Christine. Then her eyes snapped open. "And I would have been able to if you at least looked at him with some measure of kindness. But you can't conceive that anyone besides you deserves kindness like that.

"I hate you, Christine! I hate you." Her statement came out of nowhere and took Christine by surprise. "I hate you for taking away all I have ever wanted. You… oh never mind. I'm not going to insult you anymore. It isn't satisfying when all you do is sit there looking like a deer in headlights." She was so caught up in her pain and anger that she didn't realize the modern reference she had made. "So good luck with your husband. Have a nice life knowing how much you damaged the man I love." The tears threatened and Alison's pride would not allow her to cry in front of Christine. She turned toward the door, then stopped. "Oh, and next time you decide to break someone's heart, choose someone who has the ability to move on afterwards." Without another word, she ran out of the room, leaving Christine stunned behind her.

However, neither of them knew that there was someone else who had heard Alison's confession. The man behind the mirror stared in shock, his mind almost unable to process what he had just heard. Several recent events that had confused him suddenly clicked into place. One thought dominated his mind, fighting to be understood and accepted. _She loves me…_

**I know people have been excited for this chapter (MAJOR thanks to everyone who reviewed my other chapters, especially Killstreak, who did every single one). I hope it fulfills your expectations. Please review and let me know!**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: This chapter is dedicated to ramie rocks. I can't PM you, so I'm telling you here how much I appreciated your review. I know you wanted at least one more chapter (there will be a lot more to come, I promise) and here is the chapter you asked for. I hope it satisfies.**

Chapter Fourteen

Alison ran away from the dressing room, pushing past laughing ballerinas and drunken stagehands. At one point, she ran smack into Patrick.

"_Alison! What's wrong?"_ he asked, his small smile turning into confusion. She just shook her head and ran past him. She didn't know where she was going, only that she needed to get away from everything and everyone. Pushing open random doors and running up stairs, she opened a door and found herself on the roof of the opera house. _Funny that my steps should have led me here of all places_, she managed to think before the tears took her. She sank to the ground, sobbing and not able to stop.

After a while, when she had cried herself out, she smiled a small, watery smile. _I promised I wouldn't cry over him anymore,_ she thought. _Isn't that ironic. I think I love him too much ever to stop. _She put her face in her hands. _It's ridiculous that anyone should ever make me feel this way. I know I wanted to be in love, but if I had known it would be like this I never would have wished it at all._

She got up and wiped her eyes and her face with her hand. She walked to the edge of the roof and stared out at Paris. She looked without seeing the beauty before her. All she could see was a half-masked face yelling, "CAN YOU NOT SEE THAT I WILL _NEVER_ STOP LOVING CHRISTINE?"

Suddenly, a song occurred to her that seemed perfect for the situation. Although she didn't sing usually, she thought that it was appropriate considering who she had fallen in love with. She began to sing softly.

_"I've seen his face, I've heard his name_

_I've lost my place and he's to blame_

_And I can't stand it_

_When I'm staring in his eyes_

_And he's not looking back_

_It ain't a big surprise_

_I've heard music, I've heard noise_

_I wish that he could hear his voice_

_The way that I do When I go to sleep at night_

_And dream my life away_

_But he's gone when I awake"_

_Okay, small word change, _she thought with a momentary flash of humor. _I can't really be singing to "Sami", can I? At least it sort of rhymes with the rest of the song._

_"Erik, Erik_

_Why can't you see What you're doing to me?_

_The way his hair falls in his eyes_

_Makes me wonder if he'll ever see through my disguise_

_And I'm under his spell_

_Everything is falling and I don't know where to land_

_Everyone knows who he is_

_But they don't know who I am_

_Erik, Erik_

_Why can't you see What you're doing to me?_

_I've seen you conquer certain death_

_Even when you're just standing there, you take away my breath_

_And maybe someday_

_You'll hear my song and understand that all along_

_There's something more that I'm trying to say_

_When I say_

_Erik, Erik_

_Why can't you see What you're doing to me?"_

From behind her came the soft sound of clapping. She turned around and her heart nearly stopped. "_Angel_! What… what are you doing here?"

"I was looking for you and thought that I might find you here. You have a rather nice voice, by the way. Completely untrained, of course, but there is something there."

"Um… thanks." _Thank God he doesn't speak English, otherwise I would be completely and totally screwed._ Then something occurred to her. "May I ask why you were looking for me?"

He stepped back at the abrasiveness of her tone. "I wanted to apologize." He seemed to be forcing the words out. "I should not have yelled at you the way I did. I do not know why I was so upset."

She looked down. "It's all right. I shouldn't have reacted the way I did." But she knew that everything she had just said was a lie. Her reaction was perfectly normal, at least in her eyes, and it was most certainly not all right.

He stepped forward and stood on her right side, looking out at Paris the way she had been doing moments ago. She turned back around and looked with him. She was uncomfortably aware of his presence and his every move. The silence stretched longer and longer between them because neither could think of anything to say. "Beautiful view," Erik managed eventually to try and dissipate the awkwardness of the moment.

She turned her head towards him. The sun struck his face, giving it a strange glow. His face was mildly relaxed and his eyes were distant. The only side of his face that was visible was the unmasked one and he looked, in that moment, like an angel. "Yes," she said softly. "Yes, it is."

He caught her gaze. They stared into each other's eyes for a moment. Alison broke the gaze and turned back to the view. He continued to look at her, seeming to work up his courage.

"Angelique?" he asked tentatively.

"Yes?" she asked without looking at him.

"Did you really mean it? What you said in the dressing room?"

She frowned. "What I…" Then she realized what he meant and her eyes went wide. She snapped her head towards him. "What… how… you were listening behind the mirror, weren't you?"

He nodded shamefacedly.

"How much did you hear?" she asked in a panic.

The look on his face told her all she needed to know.

Her cheeks went bright red and she covered her face with her hands. "Oh God… I'm so sorry! I never meant for you to hear any of that. It… I… Oh God," she repeated in despair and turned away from him.

"I know you never meant me to hear it. But you have not answered my question."

"What question?"

"Did you mean it?"

She turned her head to look into his eyes. "Every word," she said, the honesty shining from her eyes. Then she quickly turned back around, too embarrassed to look at him anymore.

"Angelique," his voice called softly. "Look at me. I will not hurt you, I promise." His mouth quirked slightly in a smile, but it gave way to slight nervousness.

She turned all the way around again and looked at him fearfully. He looked into her eyes. There was an emotion in his gaze that she couldn't place as he took a step closer. And another. And another. She couldn't understand what he was getting at. What was he doing? He was too close. She dropped her eyes to the ground.

A sensation. Fingers, trembling but strong, caught her chin and pulled her face up to look into his eyes. Her brain went into overdrive, trying to process everything at once. His close proximity to her, so close that she could touch him if she had the courage. His fingers on her chin, sending a rush of warmth all through her body. She had dreamed so often of him touching her like this. It was better than she had ever thought it would be. But why? What had prompted him to do this? Especially when he had just found out one of her biggest secrets, the other being that she was from a different time. His eyes, staring into hers, arresting her gaze and keeping it on him. They were still full of that nameless emotion and something else, something that was almost nerves. _What would he have to be nervous ab–_ She was cut off mid-thought as his mouth covered hers.

Fireworks exploded in her mind. She had become nothing but sensation and feeling. His lips were soft and tender, but tentative, unsure. He wasn't moving at all. He was still, almost expecting her rejection. She knew he had probably only ever been kissed by… _No. Don't think about that now. It's just him. It's just you. So enjoy it while you can._ And she kissed him back.

He had been almost frozen with fear, waiting for her to push him away in spite of her revelation. And for a second, he really thought she was going to. But then he felt her lips move against his. She was kissing him! And he hadn't coerced her, or threatened her, or in any way harmed her. She was doing it of her own free will, and it was beautiful.

They kissed for a moment, and then Erik broke away, nervous as to her reaction. She looked up at him, a wide smile on her lips. Then something occurred to her and it faded to a confused frown.

"What happened to 'I will never stop loving Christine'? Not that I'm complaining, I just…" Alison's voice trailed off. She was embarrassed to finish the thought. Fear coursed through her. _What if he's so desperate for love that he turned to you as a 'backup option'? What if… No, don't think that way. He hasn't even said anything yet._

Erik sighed and looked her in the eyes. "When I said that, I was trying to convince myself as much as I was trying to convince you. I…thinking about Christine and loving her had seemed strange for a while. I did not know why: I thought something was wrong with me. That is why I was behind the mirror. I was trying to remind myself why I had fallen in love with her and rekindle the spark in my heart. However, I found something quite different. " His mouth quirked in a small, mischievous smile, a gesture that was rare for him. She blushed and looked down.

His eyes became serious again as he looked at her. "But what you said… that was what I was looking for, even though I did not know it. The reason loving Christine felt so strange was because my heart was no longer hers."

Hope fluttered in Alison's chest. _Does he really mean what I think he means?_

"My heart… is yours. Je t'aime, Angelique." He whispered the last few words. Even after all they had shared in the last few minutes, he was still nervous about her reaction. His life had taught him to expect pain and rejection, and so it still surprised him when she looked up at him, eyes shining.

"I love you too, Erik." Shock shot through him. _I never told her my name!_

She saw the expression in his eyes. _Oh no, oh no, oh no. He hasn't told me that, has he? Whoops… I'll explain that to him someday, but I don't want to ruin this moment. Okay, I just need to distract him. I think that's easy enough._ She slid her hand to the nape of his neck and pulled his lips down to hers. As she had anticipated, her touch sent all thought flowing out of his mind as he set his hands tentatively to her waist and pulled her to him.

This kiss was not like the first. There was no hesitation, no nervousness, no fear. Just two people who loved each other and weren't afraid to show it. Alison felt like she was melting into him as they held each other closer until it was no longer physically possible to get any closer. He dominated her mind. She could feel the warmth of his body. She had been kissed before, but never like this, never this passionately.

Erik was thinking much the same thing. Christine's kiss had spoken of desperation, fear, and sacrifice. But Alison's lips held pure love. It still blew his mind that someone like her could love someone like him. But he wouldn't protest or point that out to her; he would just enjoy it while it lasted.

The blue, cloudless sky arched like a dome over the world as the two figures kissed on the roof with Paris at their feet, never stopping or hesitating. They were all that existed for each other and love surrounded them like a sweet perfume. For that one moment, the world was perfect.  
And then the moment was shattered by agitated voices that came from the stairwell. They broke the kiss and let go of each other, looking behind them at the entrance to the rooftop.

"I should go," he said regretfully.

A part of Alison wanted to hold on to him and never let go, but she knew that he was right.

He pressed a last kiss to her lips. "I love you," he whispered, and was gone.

She was left staring after him, shell-shocked and light-headed. The door to the rooftop burst open to reveal Christine, Madame Giry, and Patrick. Alison turned around, eyes wide. "Oh, hello," she said vaguely.

"Alison, there you are! We were worried about you," said Patrick, moving towards her. "How do you feel?"

She looked at him. At his words a song had popped into her head. A smile broke out on her lips. Christine was shocked, just having seen her crying and upset.

Alison walked over to Patrick a little unsteadily and began to sing.

"_Ask me how do I feel  
Ask me now that we're cosy and clinging  
Well sir, all I can say, is if I were a bell I'd be ringing!  
From the moment we kissed tonight  
That's the way I've just gotta behave  
Boy, if I were a lamp I'd light  
And If I were a banner I'd wave!  
Ask me how do I feel, little me with my quiet upbringing  
Well sir, all I can say is if I were a gate I'd be swinging!  
And if I were a watch I'd start popping my springs!  
Or if I were a bell I'd go ding dong, ding dong ding!"_

She grabbed Christine's hands and swung her around in a circle._  
"Ask me how do I feel from this chemistry lesson I'm learning."_

Patrick frowned. This was all highly irregular._ "Uh, chemistry?"  
_She grinned back at him. "_Yeah, chemistry!  
Well sir, all I can say is if I were a bridge I'd be burning!  
Yes, I knew my morale would crack  
From the wonderful way that you looked!  
Boy, if I were a duck I'd quack!  
Or if I were a goose I'd be cooked!  
Ask me how do I feel, ask me now that we're fondly caressing  
Well, if I were a salad I know I'd be splashing my dressing  
Ask me how to describe this whole beautiful thing  
Well, if I were a bell I'd go ding dong, ding dong ding!"_

She finished the song and spun in place, around and around on the rooftop.

Patrick frowned. "_That didn't answer my question. What's wrong with you, Alison?"_

She looked at Patrick, the sun shining from her eyes. "_Absolutely nothing!"_

Then she ran down from the rooftop, giggling all the while.

Erik had watched from behind the statue of Apollo, smiling at her display. He hadn't understood a word of her song, but it was clear that she was happy. And he couldn't keep a silly grin off his face, something he had never done in his life. He felt like dancing around and singing himself. He shook his head at his own foolishness and slipped away from the confused group.

Christine looked at Patrick and frowned. "Has she gone crazy?"

Before Patrick could reply, Madame Giry cut in. "Can you not see? She is in love."

Patrick stared. "What? With who?"

"I do not know. But I can think of no other reason that she would act like this."

Patrick's eyes narrowed. _So that's how it is, is it? At least now I know the truth. All I have to do is figure out who her lover is. Once I do, he will be very…upset…  
_

**Hey everyone! I just wanted to mention that the first song Alison sings is called Sami/Harry and it's in Little White Lie and A Very Potter Musical, respectively. If you haven't heard of either of those, shame on you and look them up right now! The second song is called If I Were A Bell from Guys and Dolls. Please review and let me know what you think.**


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Alison was walking on air for the rest of the week. She had dreamed about being with Erik for so long and now that it had actually happened, she felt like she was perpetually high on life. People stared at her quite a lot during that week. They found her excessive cheerfulness strange and kind of disconcerting. But she didn't care. He loved her and that was all that mattered.

For his part, he felt much the same way. Before, he had spent much of his day drawing, watching, and thinking about Christine. Now all of a sudden Christine seemed much less important. Erik knew that there would be a part of him that would always love her, but that part was eclipsed by his love for Alison. Now he spent his time watching her from the walls, noticing her with new eyes. He noticed the grace she carried about her, her kindness, her bright, beautiful smile. He wanted desperately to talk to her, find out what she thought of the whole thing, and, more importantly, to find out how she knew his name. Unfortunately, they didn't get to see each other until the next Sunday. The time stretched endlessly for both of them.

But when Sunday came, they both felt inexplicably nervous. Both spent longer than usual in front of the mirror, making sure they looked their best. For Erik, this was difficult, since he never looked into a mirror if he could help it. But he wanted to impress Alison as much as he could, so he tried. At exactly seven o'clock, he heard her footsteps coming down the tunnels. He slicked his hair back one last time, then looked around frantically for something to do so that it didn't look like he had been waiting for her. He grabbed a piece of paper off his desk and started drawing something random just as she walked in.

Alison was trying very hard to hide her nerves behind a gentle smile. She didn't want to fall back into the trap of just being friends, and she was afraid that if she didn't establish the change now, that was what would happen. "Hey, Er– _Angel_," she called to him. Then she walked over and kissed him lightly on the lips. That one touch dispelled all his fears that she would change her mind. He smiled back at her.

"Hello, Angelique."

They stood, smiling at each other for a moment, and then he engaged her in conversation as she pulled up a chair from the table and sat across from him. They talked in their normal manner for a while, but this time it had an undertone of something else. Sometimes his leg would "accidentally" brush hers. When she teased him, she would nudge him with her shoulder, inviting close contact. Finally, they ran out of things to say.

Erik decided that this would be the perfect time to bring up the one thing that had been gnawing at his mind for a week. "Angelique," he said cautiously.

"Yes?" She frowned in confusion. "Is there something wrong?"

"I wanted to ask you: how is it that you know my name?"

She froze, eyes alarmed. _I knew that he would ask at some point, and I've already made my decision. It shouldn't be _too_ hard to tell him that I've been lying to him for two years._ She sighed and looked at her hands.

"You, of all people, have the right to know, and I've already decided to tell you." Then she lifted her head and her eyes stared straight into his. "But there are two conditions."

"Why? Surely this is only a matter of–"

"No," she cut him off. "It's not. Once I tell you, you will understand why. This is much bigger than just your name. It's a secret that could do a lot of damage if it fell into the wrong hands. There is only one person in the entire world, so far as I know, who knows about this, and that is because that person is involved. So that's my first condition. You must tell no one. That one shouldn't be too hard. No offense, but who would you tell?" A small smile played around her lips for a moment.

He nodded silently. She had a point.

Then the smile slipped off her face. "The second one is a little more… personal. What I'm about to tell you is the biggest secret I keep. It's only fair that you give me something in return." She sensed his nervousness. "Don't worry, I'm not going to ask you anything you can't give. That would just be unreasonable."

He relaxed, but only momentarily. "What do you want of me?"

She hesitated, then said quietly, "I want you to take off your mask."

Betrayal and anger coursed through him. _I would have thought that she of all people would never…_ But before he could say anything to that effect, she raised her hands.

"Don't get angry at me before you hear what I have to say, okay?"

He nodded slowly, eyes narrowed in distrust.

"I'm not asking you to do it now if you don't feel comfortable. I don't want you to feel that you have to hide from me. I want you to be able to trust me. You don't have to do it now. I'm asking you to take off the mask when you feel comfortable doing it, not before. If you never feel comfortable enough, that's okay too. If you choose to show me, I won't scream, I won't run away, I won't think you're a freak. I love you, Erik. More than I've ever loved anyone else in my life. You could be a three-headed demon for all I know, and I wouldn't care."

He looked into her eyes, trying to find the lie. _There has to be a lie somewhere,_ he thought. _She doesn't actually mean this… does she?_

But her eyes met his with such unflinching honesty that he began to accept that she actually meant what she said. He took a deep breath.

"I accept your conditions. For the second condition…I will do it now before I have time to change my mind."

A surge of happiness went through her. _He trusts me! He really trusts me!_

With one swift motion, he ripped off the mask, exposing his face to her. Then he closed his eyes, not wanting to see the expression on her face. Even after all her promises, he still didn't entirely believe her.

If he had cared to look, he would have seen horror as he expected, but only at first. It morphed into pity then to the deepest compassion she had ever felt for anyone. Love swept through her for this man who had known nothing but pain.

Erik waited to hear her scream. He waited for the sound of her footsteps running away, and for the loneliness to take him again, more complete this time because he had truly hoped. He heard none of those things, however. Instead, he felt.

Her hand softly touched the marred flesh of the right half of his face. Words couldn't describe the sight of it, and she wasn't sure that she wanted to try. All that mattered was to show him that his preconceived notions were wrong.

His eyes shot wide open at her touch, even though it had been gentle. He stared at her, not believing what he saw in her eyes. She recognized this, and knew that she had to make him believe. Touch alone wasn't enough.

She leaned over and slowly, carefully kissed his face. His eyes fluttered close at the feel of her lips, more heavenly than anything he had ever experienced in his life. She continued kissing his face, getting surer by the second. She memorized the strange texture with her lips, so unlike a normal face, and yet so much more beautiful.

She eventually pulled back and looked him straight in the eyes. This was the moment to do something she had wanted to do for a while now.

"_Pitiful creature of darkness," _she sang softly, "_what kind of life have you known? God give me courage to show you, you are not alone!"_ Before he could ask her what she had said, she fit her lips to his in a beautiful, perfect kiss.

When they broke apart, he looked her for a moment, then swept her into his arms and held her. Sobs broke through the control he had tried to exert over himself and he began crying into her hair. "Thank you," he whispered helplessly, over and over again. She held him tightly, trying to reassure him of her love.

They stayed like that for a while, until his tears dried. Then he pulled back and gave her a little smile. "Well, then. That went… differently than I expected."

She smiled back at him. "I told you, you could be a three-headed demon and I wouldn't care. I love you."

"As I love you, mon coeur."

"You know, I've always wanted someone to call me that," she giggled.

"I shall be sure to do that more often, then." The brightness of his eyes showed her his happiness. Then they became serious. "I have upheld my end of our bargain, now it is time for you to uphold yours. Why is it that you know my name?"

Her face became sober. "Just please promise me that you won't judge me or condemn me for not telling you before now."

"Of course not!" He seemed offended that she would even ask. "I would never judge you like that, even if you told me that you had killed someone."

"It's nothing that serious… and yet it is, for a different reason. All right. Let me figure out how to put this."

She thought for a moment, then began. "Everything I have told you about my past is true. I have told you no lies. I am truly from America. But there is an assumption underlying everything I've told you that is wrong.

"You see, the America I have described is different. If you took a trip there now, you would find none of the things I have told you about. My house wouldn't exist, my family wouldn't be there, and the school I told you I went to wouldn't be standing. Or maybe it would, it would just look different from what I have described. Can you guess why?"

He shook his head, puzzled.

She took a deep breath, and then said, "Erik, what year was it when I came?"

He seemed taken aback by the question. "It was 1873, of course."

"There was no 'of course' about it for me, Erik. When I asked what the year was and received that answer, I was completely surprised. If I went home and asked what year it was before I came here, do you know what they would say?"

"1873?" he asked, with a sickening feeling he knew what she was about to tell him. _But no, that is not possible. Things like that do not happen in real life… do they?_

"No. If I had asked them, they would have said 2012."

She watched his face carefully for any sign of his emotions.

"I'm not lying to you. What reason would I have to tell such ridiculous lies? I'm telling the real, honest truth."

Silence.

"Please say something, goddamn it!"

Silence. Then, finally:

"I believe you, Angelique."

"What?"

"I believe you," he repeated. "As you say, why would you lie about something that important? It explains quite a lot about you that I have found confusing."

Her face relaxed, then filled with tension again as he kept speaking.

"It answers many of my questions about you… except the one I asked. How does the fact that you are from the future explain how you know my name?"

This was the part she had been dreading. _How do I explain to him about… all this? I guess I should just say it straight out._

"In 1910, a man named Gaston Leroux–"

Erik cut her off. "You have heard of Monsieur Leroux? He was a thorn in my side for quite a long time. There were a few times that I even thought he knew the truth about me, but of course–"

"You wanted to hear this, so let me talk!" Alison said sharply.

He bowed his head contritely. "I am sorry."

"That's interesting, that you knew Gaston Leroux. I mean, it makes sense, but still… Anyway, in 1910, he published a book called The Phantom of the Opera."

"WHAT?"

Alison ignored Erik's outraged cry and continued. "The book wasn't terribly famous in its time. It was even out of print a couple times. But in 1925, a silent film came out–"

"What is a silent film?" asked Erik.

Alison considered this. "It's essentially a moving picture. The only reason it's silent is because back then, they didn't know how to give the picture sound, so they just played music and had text for what they should have been saying. But that particular movie is actually pretty good. The point is, someone made a silent film based on the book. It's a pretty good adaptation, except for the tiny fact that THE ENDING IS STUPID AND HORRIBLE… anyway, that movie was pretty popular. So people kept making movies. There are quite a lot actually, but none of them are as popular as… well, we'll get to that later. The movies were of varying degrees of quality. Some were definitely better than others, and yes, I've seen them all," she added, seeing Erik's questioning look.

"Why did you see them all?"

"Why? I was curious. Also, I wanted to see them to say that I'd seen them."

"Is that all?" Erik sensed that there was something she wasn't telling him about her motives.

"Okay, fine. There were other reasons that you don't necessarily need to know and anyway, they aren't exactly relevant."

Erik made a mental note to get the reasons out of her later. Right now he was too interested to hear what she had to say to take time on the trivialities.

"How many of these – movies, did you say? – are there?"

Alison thought about it and counted on her fingers, muttering under her breath. "Well, there's the Lon Chaney one, the Claude Rains one, Herbert Lom, Max Schell, Robert Englund, Charles Dance, the cartoon version, Dario Argento," Alison suppressed a shiver at the name of the worst Phantom movie of all time, "and Gerard Butler, although technically that's a movie of the musical… so let's make that nine."

Erik stared in horror. "Nine different movies about me? How did that happen? This is terrible! It is an invasion of my privacy and–"

"Please relax, Erik. I'm telling you the honest truth. Besides, nobody really watches those movies besides phangirls. I'm not saying that phangirls are nobody," she added. "I'm just saying that the only way to find those movies is if you're really looking and people don't usually do that who aren't phangirls."

"What are these 'phangirls'?" asked Erik curiously.

Alison pretended to ignore his question. "But the movie versions aren't what led me to the story. Do you know what a musical is?"

Erik frowned. "I am not familiar with the term, no."

Then Alison remembered. "Oh, right, they don't technically exist yet. A musical is basically like an opera, but the music is different stylistically and there's usually dialogue."

Erik nodded.

"Well, in 1986, a composer named Andrew Lloyd Webber wrote a musical based on the book. It's also called The Phantom of the Opera. This musical is hugely successful. It's the longest running musical on Broadway and it just celebrated its 25th anniversary last year. It has really pretty music and it's just a great musical in general. The musical is what led me to the story of the Phantom of the Opera. Reading the book –yes, I have read it, don't look at me like that– told me that your name is Erik. So that's how I know your name. Any questions?"

Erik stared at her, eyes wide open and jaw all but hitting the floor. "Are you teasing me again or am I supposed to believe this?"

"You're supposed to believe this, because it's perfectly true," she said in acid tones.

"I trust in the veracity of your statements usually, but this seems so outlandish as to be absurd. Is there a way that you can possibly prove the truth of what you say?"

She thought about it for a moment. "There are a couple quotes I know from some of the movies, but not very well. I do know most of the songs from the musical, but…"

Erik perked up at the mention of songs. "But what?"

"Nothing, nothing." Alison turned away.

"Angelique," Erik's voice called, softly persuasive. "I have bared myself to you in all ways excepting the true physical." He was very glad she couldn't see him blush. "You need not be afraid to tell me something."

"It's just that I'm not the best singer in the world and–"

Erik tried very hard to keep from laughing. "You are a good singer, Angelique. You just lack certain techniques. If it makes you feel better, I will not approach this as a teacher. I will approach it as a musician hearing a new piece of music and I will also look at it as… never mind."

Now it was Alison's turn to keep from laughing. "You need not be afraid to tell me something," she parroted back at him.

Erik huffed in pretended annoyance. "If you wish, I would look at it as… as a lover listening to his lover sing. Not a lover in the physical way, of course," he hastened to add, in case that wasn't what Alison wanted. "I look at you as the woman I love. I would not judge harshly in any way. I simply… this sounds completely inane and I cannot properly articulate my thoughts, so I am going to stop talking now."

Alison did laugh out loud at this point. "It's okay, Erik. I get what you mean and I appreciate it. Let's see. I'm trying to think of a good song that would be easy for me to sing by myself. Wait a moment! Do you remember that song you sang to me the night that Patrick came, when we almost kissed?"

"Do you think I could ever forget it, mon amour? That night was when I first started falling in love with you," he confessed.

She grinned. "Well, anyway, that song is actually in the musical. In English, of course, but it's the same song."

"Truly?"

"Yes."

Erik considered this for a moment. "That is very strange. I wonder how someone managed to find it. But can you try to think of another one? My music is not new music to me."

Alison thought harder. "The most likely thing for me to sing is a song that Christine sings, but there are no songs that she sings on her own except… Hold on. There is one. How did I not manage to think of Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again? Yeah, I guess I'll do that one."

Erik sat back, an interested look on his face.

"All right, here goes." She took a deep breath and started to sing.

"_You were once my one companion_

_You were all that mattered_

_You were once a friend and father_

_Then my world was shattered_

_Wishing you were somehow here again_

_Wishing you were somehow near_

_Sometimes it seemed if I just dreamed_

_Somehow you would be here_

_Wishing I could hear your voice again_

_Knowing that I never would_

_Dreaming of you won't help me to do_

_All that you dreamed I could_

_Passing bells and sculpted angels, cold and monumental_

_Seem for you the wrong companions_

_You were warm and gentle_

_Too many years fighting back tears_

_Why can't the past just die?_

_Wishing you were somehow here again_

_Knowing we must say goodbye_

_Try to forgive, teach me to live_

_Give me the strength to try_

_No more memories, no more silent tears_

_No more gazing across the wasted years_

_Help me say goodbye_

_Help me say goodbye"_  
After she finished the song there was a long moment. At the sound of her voice, Erik was lost in memories. He didn't understand English, but somehow he knew what she was singing about. He remembered that day in the graveyard very well. In his mind's eye, Christine sank to the ground in front of the gravestone. In front of him, Alison was doing her best not to cry. The song had awakened all her homesickness for the place that she used to call home. She missed her family, her friends, and her life there. _I have a new life here_, she reminded herself. _A life that has the potential for things that are so much better. I have what I've always wanted: true love. Then why does it make me so sad?_

_It's normal to miss your family,_ a small, comforting voice inside of her said. _Just because you like your life here doesn't mean that you don't miss the old one. It's okay. Acknowledge the feeling, know that it exists, and devote your time and energy to this life._

The vision of Christine dissipated from Erik as he noticed Alison's pain. He didn't fully understand it, but he knew he needed to be there for her. He pulled her into his arms and held her close, trying to comfort her and ease her sadness. She relaxed into him, grateful for his love.

"I love you," she said softly, just to repeat it.

"I love you too, Angelique."

The way he said her name reminded her of the one thing she still had yet to tell him. She pulled back and looked at him. "There's one more thing about me that I think you should know. My real name isn't Angelique. That's my French name. At home, people call me Alison."

"Alison." He tried it, rolling the word across his tongue. It sounded strange to her.

"You can choose which one you want to call me. I'm good either way," she assured him.

"Then do you mind if I call you Angelique?" he asked sheepishly.

She grinned. "That was exactly what I hope you'd say."

**Please review and tell me what you think!**


	16. Chapter 16

**Sorry for the hiatus: my family and I took a trip over break and I had to study for midterms, so I didn't have time to write. And on a completely unrelated note, I just bought the album "Human Heart" by Ramin Karimloo. *fangirly sigh* It's completely awesome! Anyway, here's the new chapter.**

Chapter Sixteen

Patrick's emotions were in a whirl. For a time, he had been almost happy as he watched Alison grow sadder and sadder. Ordinarily, this would have made him depressed, but this time, he knew the cause. _She's feeling bad that she broke up with me. Soon, she'll come crawling back to me and I'll be able to accept her apology. That's going to be so great._ He watched her carefully, anticipating the moment that she would approach him and say, "_Patrick, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have broken up with you. I've realized that you're the only one for me. Can you forgive me?_" He had already composed his speech accepting her apology.

Then his world had turned upside down. Even now, in his worst nightmares, he could still hear Madame Giry's voice echoing through his head. "Can you not see? She is in love."

It tortured his mind and his heart. Day by day, he felt himself being filled more and more with white-hot rage and pain. Patrick was not accustomed to being second best. Everyone had always given him everything he wanted. Girls threw themselves at his feet. But now, when it was most important, the one thing he desired was denying him. And for whom? For whom?

Although Patrick tried hard to discover the identity of his rival, he never could. He asked all of the ballet girls, but the answer was always the same: "I do not know who he is. But she is so in love with him, it is amazing! You rarely see that kind of love anymore." They would sigh romantically. _Empty-headed idiots. _Patrick wanted to scream at them all, shake them until they gave him some hint, some clue.

There were tantalizing hints, answers just out of reach, but nothing was ever truly clear. He got one piece of information from the ballet girls, however. Her lover would always leave her flowers and little notes on her pillow. One day, Patrick hid in the ballet dormitories in order to catch the culprit. He sat for hours and stared at her bed, waiting for his rival to finally appear. But he blinked for a moment and there was a note on the pillow and no one in the room.

The notes this mysterious man sent Alison were unsigned and written in a beautiful, flowing script. They all contained things so poetic and full of love, Patrick wanted to throw up. He insisted on torturing himself by reading them again and again, trying to get some clue from them. _What kind of person doesn't sign his own love notes? And what's with all the skulking around? Obviously this guy has something to hide. He's probably some dark handsome stranger who just likes seducing girls. Alison probably fell for his flowery language. Since when did poetry become a prerequisite for love?_ He wracked his brain for explanations of the man's behavior. Every conceivable answer floated through his brain… except the only one that was correct.

His anger and frustration grew every day. He barely did enough of his work to retain his job as a stagehand, receiving more than one warning. All of his friends noticed his erratic behavior changes. Much of his time was devoted to finding this man. It had become an obsession.

He finally resorted to accosting Alison as she returned from the chapel one day. He pulled her over in the hallway and pinned her against a wall. Her carefree expression faded in an instant, replaced by fear and annoyance. _"What do you think you're doing, Patrick? What's wrong with you?"_

He leaned forward so that his face was within an inch of hers. "_Who is he?"_

She frowned, but her expression held a hint of worry. _"What do you mean?"_

Patrick almost hissed. "_Don't try to play dumb with me, darling. Who is it that you've replaced me with?"_

She met his eyes, defiance written all over her face. _"No one you know. Even if I told you his name, you wouldn't know it. Please let me go."_

Patrick leaned even closer. His nose brushed hers. "_Tell me, Alison, darling,"_ he said, a grimace of a smile on his face.

Alison's eyes narrowed. "_Let go of me or I'll slap you back to 2012, where you belong. Let me go."_

Without another word, he let go his hold on her and stalked off. She rubbed her arm where he had grabbed it and watched him go, more than a little disturbed. Immediately she felt foolish. _This is Patrick we're talking about. He's not the kind of person who would actually get violent or anything,_ she tried to reassure herself. Thinking it would sound stupid, she decided not to mention it to Erik.

She would regret it later, when her original instincts would prove right. She would berate herself for keeping her thoughts to herself when she screamed for help, begging for Erik to come save her, and there was no reply.

For Erik, his time with Alison was the happiest of his long and miserable life. He was even happier than he had been while teaching Christine. With Christine, it had been all about her, _her_ hopes, _her_ fears, _her_ dreams. He had been her angel, with all the detachment and power that came with. With Alison, he was nothing more or less than a man.

Alison treated him in a way that nobody in his life had. She treated him like an equal, like a normal human being, but it was so much more than that. She _loved_ him. She never seemed to tire of telling him, and he never tired of hearing it. And each time, he saw the truth of it in her eyes. She knew his horrible past, full of mistreatment and murders, and she loved him all the more for it. She looked at his horrible face without even flinching. When he was with her, he felt like a normal person. His love for her grew each day with her gentle treatment. He loved the way she looked at him and the way her hair fell around her face. He loved the way she would touch his arm or his cheek randomly during their conversations. He loved the way her eyes glowed when she laughed or talked about something she loved.

And he felt more comfortable than he had ever felt with a human being before. Once she had made it clear that she liked it when he kissed her, he would do it whenever he felt the need to, sometimes even in the middle of a sentence. To his delight, she never pushed him away or looked irritated about being interrupted. She just smiled, kissed him back, and continued with whatever she was saying.

She had quickly replaced Christine as his muse. He drew her all the time, watching from behind the mirrors of the opera house. Any music he wrote now was dedicated to her, and it was some of the most beautiful and happy music he had ever written. He began to think of her as his angel in the darkness of his life.

As the months went by, he kept expecting the day to come when she would no longer want to see him. To his surprise, it never did. She seemed to continue loving him with the same sweetness that she always did. Their relationship wasn't perfect: no relationship is. They had their share of snags and fights, but they always got over it and forgave each other.

But Erik began to discover that his love for her was underscored by something else. Something more fiery and intense. Something that reminded him of Don Juan and Christine…

It took him several weeks to identify it as desire, and once he had, he wished that he hadn't. _Why does my body always ruin everything?_ He berated himself internally. _Curse this damn… feeling! She has saved me in every way a man can be saved. She has been an angel to me and this is what I give her? These base desires and the earthly needs of a man? She has given me everything, her mind, her heart, and her soul: I cannot ask her to give me her body as well._ But his mind would not stop tormenting him with erotic images of her. His frustration with her and with himself grew daily.

Unbeknownst to him, Alison was beginning to experience the same problem. She knew a little more about the whole business than Erik did, due to the fact that American pop culture was full of sexual references, music, and commercials. If they could add sex to anything, they would. Alison knew that if she wanted anything to come of it, she would have to make the first move, but she didn't know how to broach the topic with Erik. She was still a virgin, despite the endless opportunities college had offered to change that status. Patrick had asked her to have sex with him several times when they were dating, but she had said no. It hadn't felt right, somehow. She had been waiting for the right person, and she was convinced that Erik was that person. She wanted to ask him, but her doubts and fears stopped her every time.

Week by week, the tension between them grew. It was only a matter of time before it exploded…

**This chapter is something of a transition chapter: it does more emotional setup than actual action. That's why it's so short. I promise that things will get more exciting in the next chapter or so. Please review!**


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Summer came, an unbearably hot summer that drove all the wealthy citizens of Paris out to the country, attempting to escape the heat. Those who could not afford to leave were not so fortunate. Everyone went about their business in the lightest clothes they could find. The bounds of propriety were widened for that summer. Short hair became stylish, much to the consternation of the ballerinas, who were forced to keep their hair long for performances. Rehearsals were shorter and the dances much less complicated because of the heat. Even Erik's lair was hot, and it was generally much colder than everything else.

The heat bothered Alison the most. In this kind of weather, she was used to wearing shorts and T-shirts. All of her dresses were long-sleeved and she was sweltering. With the small salary she was given as a dancer, she went out and bought several light cotton dresses on her day off, in the hopes of being a little less hot. She wore one of them when she went to visit Erik the same day.

She skipped through the tunnels and only stopped when she reached Erik's door. "Hey, Erik," she called.

He had been sitting at his desk, and he turned around at the sound of her voice. When he saw her, something changed in his eyes. He sat staring at her with a strange expression on his face.

"Erik, what is it?" she asked, giving him a confused look. He shook himself and turned back to his work.

"Nothing." His voice was oddly clipped and tense. She couldn't understand his reaction. Did the dress look bad? What was it?

_Damn,_ Erik cursed to himself. _Why did she have to come wearing a dress like that?_ As she came and sat down next to him, he noticed that the room had become uncomfortably warm. He pulled his collar away from his neck and shifted awkwardly. She noticed his tension.

"Is there something wrong, Erik?"

He shook his head. "No, no. How was your day?" he asked, swiftly changing the subject. She relaxed and began telling him about what had happened that day. As she talked, he sneaked a peek over his shoulder at her. Her hair tumbled down in waves, framing her face perfectly. She unconsciously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she talked. Her face lit up at a certain part of her narrative. Her dress clung to her curves. In that moment, she looked so beautiful, so perfect, so…desirable. _No! Stop thinking like that, you beast! _He turned away again, trying not to focus on her close proximity. _At least she is not showing too much skin,_ he consoled himself. He wasn't even listening to her words at this point. He was only trying to control his instincts, which begged him to kiss her and… He clenched his fists, trying to keep his hands still.

She got up and began to wander around the lair when it was clear to her that he wasn't paying attention to her. She didn't understand what his problem was, and she almost didn't want to try. She fought back the prick of hurt at his indifference, thinking that he was probably focusing on a new piece of music or something. She noticed the heat and began to roll up her sleeves. His voice stopped her.

"What are you doing?" The words seemed like they had been wrenched out of him. His voice was harsh and scraped across his throat, very unlike his normal angelic tones. She looked at him as though he were out of his mind.

"I'm rolling up my sleeves. It's hot down here," she explained, as if to a child.

"Well, please do not." He turned back to his work, resolutely not looking at her.

"Erik, what the hell is your problem today?" she demanded, trying to understand his sudden change in behavior.

Something in him snapped. He rose out of his chair and began to stride towards her, covering the distance between them in a few short steps. Taking her completely by surprise, he pinned her against the wall and kissed her roughly. There was an edge to his lips that she had never felt before. She had only detected traces of it before, but now it dominated his kiss. He pulled back when both of them were breathing hard. He pressed his hips flush to hers with a hand at the small of her back, and she felt… she felt… _So he does want me after all._

She looked at him, eyes wide. His face was only a few inches from hers. "_This_ is why you should keep your sleeves where they belong. You torture me so, Angelique! All of the times I have considered just…but I cannot. I will not hurt you in such a way." He broke his hold on her and turned away. "Cover yourself respectably before I do something we will both regret." He began to walk back to his desk. Her voice halted him in his tracks.

"Why?"

"What do you mean, 'why'?"

"I mean, why would we both regret it?"

He turned around, not understanding. "What?"

"If you would regret it, that's a different matter. But if your only worry is that I would… you needn't be concerned on that score."

He looked at her, unable to comprehend her statement. _Does she mean to say that she wants… she wants me to…_ "Angelique, I…"

"In my time, you are looked upon as strange if you're still a virgin by the time you're twenty-two."

He shifted uncomfortably, not used to people speaking openly about a matter like this. He didn't want to ask her such a delicate question, but he had to know. "And… what about you?"

She smiled a small smile. "I'm still a virgin, actually. I decided I would wait for the right person." She hesitated. "You could be that person, if that's what you want. If it's not, I'll shut up and we don't have to talk anymore about it. But if it is…" She trailed off suggestively. When she looked up into his face, her demeanor had completely changed. Her eyes smoldered, burning a path into his soul. "I love you, Erik. I am yours, completely and totally. I'll give you everything I can give you _because_ of my love. All you have to do… is ask," she whispered.

He stared at her. Everything he had ever wanted, his for the taking. She made it sound so simple. _All you have to do is ask._ He swallowed and gathered his courage in both hands.

"Angelique, will… will you…" He felt graceless and awkward. In all his life, words had never failed him. He could enchant anyone with the mere sound of his voice. But now, when he needed it the most, his power deserted him. She looked at him expectantly, waiting for an answer. "Will you sleep with me?" The letters tumbled out of his mouth. Immediately he regretted his choice of words. They lacked finesse and seductiveness and completely ruined a scene that should have been much more passionate.

His words sent a small shot of fear through her. For a second she questioned herself. Was she ready for something as big as this? What if she didn't do it right? What if he hated it? She mentally pushed aside her fears. He was clearly just as scared as she was. She had to be the strong one between them. If she wanted this to be perfect, she would have to do it. She smiled at him seductively. She sauntered towards him and pressed her body to his, winding her arms around his neck. "Yes," she breathed in his ear. Her breath struck his bare skin, sending shivers down his skin. She looked into his eyes, making sure he meant the question, meant the feeling. Then she pressed her lips to his in a passionate kiss. His arms went around her waist and he kissed her back. The fire built between them as she began to unbutton his shirt…

The next morning, a figure picked her way through the tunnels under the opera house, muttering to herself. "This is not how I wanted to spend my morning, looking for foolish ballet girls who cannot keep from getting lost for one whole day. This is inane and pointless. She is sure to return at some point. Why did I do this? Well, I already know the answer to that." She sighed. "I appreciate that her cousin was concerned for her, but familial devotion can only go so far. I am not his messenger! I do not _need_ to do this." She started to turn back, then stopped. "But if I return without her, he will pester me to no end. And to be honest with myself, I quite like the girl. The least I can do is check." Resolved, she started back down the tunnels.

She arrived at Erik's lair, tiptoeing in case he was asleep. She did not relish this meeting, but there was no other way to find the information she needed. She peered around the edge of the archway and was relieved to find that he was awake. He sat in a chair, fingers laced, staring broodingly at nothing. She cleared her throat to alert him to her presence. He looked up, startled.

"Hello, Erik," she said loudly. Immediately he made violent shushing motions with his hands.

"Please speak much more softly, Antoinette," he whispered.

Madame Giry frowned. "Why?" she whispered back.

He shifted uncomfortably and abruptly changed the subject. "Why have you come here?"

She remembered her original purpose for her visit, putting away his strange behavior to think about later. "One of my ballet girls has gone missing. I thought you might know her whereabouts. If you do, please tell me at once. Her cousin is frantic and will not let me alone until I find her."

He raised an eyebrow. "I can hardly tell you the whereabouts of your dancer if I do not know who she is." He got up, picked up a book of drawings on his desk labeled 'Ballet Girls', and placed it in her hands. "Point her out to me in there and I will see if I know where she is."

Madame Giry leafed through the book. Inside were detailed drawings of the ballet girls. He had made the book in case something like this happened. He never really bothered to learn their names, so this book would help her identify the dancer who was in trouble. All of the girls were captured in its pages… except the one that Madame Giry was looking for.

"Erik?" she whispered.

"Hmmm?"

"The missing girl is not in here."

"What? They should all be there. I am positive I have not left anyone out. How long has this girl been living here?"

Madame Giry considered this. "I think that it has been about two years. I do not understand why Angelique would not be in there."

At the sound of the girl's name, he froze, stopping his confused perusal of the book. "Angelique?" he asked. There was a strange tone to his voice that she couldn't place.

"Yes, that is her name. Do you know where she is?"

Erik turned away. _Why is he so uncomfortable?_ She turned to his desk, shifting through the assorted papers on it to see if the drawing had slipped out. She moved a stack of sheet music and found the drawing of Angelique she had been looking for. She was about to turn around and show her finding to Erik when she took a closer look at the drawing. It showed her bending over some sort of paper, hair falling in her face. It was a much more personal drawing than he had made of any of the other ballerinas. She looked at the pile of paper again, moving some more sheets of paper around with her hands. Another drawing appeared. Then another and another. They were all so alive, portraying her extremely intimately. _Oh no. I hope beyond hope that he has not developed another obsession. _She looked up into Erik's guilty eyes, holding up the drawings.

"Erik, exactly what are these?" Her voice was acid and sharp.

His eyes darted back and forth, trying to find some way to get out of the situation.

"They are… as a matter of fact, they are…"

Madame Giry marched towards him until they were almost nose-to-nose. "Where is she, Erik?" she shouted.

"Shhh," he gestured. There was an ashamed expression in his eyes. They left her face and flicked momentarily to the swan bed, which was hidden by the black lace curtains. They returned quickly to look into her eyes, but the damage was already done.

Madame Giry froze for a moment. _Please tell me that this is not what I think it is._ Slowly she turned and walked over to the curtained bed. Her hand moved to pull back the curtains.

"Antoinette!" he called out, forgetting to be quiet. But it was too late. Madame Giry took in the sight before her in a state of shock. The bed was not empty, as she had hoped it would be.

Alison lay in it, asleep. Her hair was fanned out around her and she was covered by nothing but the sheet, which was pulled up to her shoulders. She wore a soft, contented smile. Madame Giry looked at Erik, her eyes surprised and condemning.

"Erik, what have you done?"

**Oooohh, cliffhanger :) Please review and tell me what you think!**


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

Madame Giry pulled the curtains together with a snap and started towards Erik. He backed away, holding his hands up defensively. "Antoinette, please."

"How did you manage to do it? Did you threaten her? Hypnotize her? Coerce her?"

"No!" He shook his head in denial. "I would never do such a thing."

"THEN WHY IS THIS GIRL HERE?" Antoinette screamed. She was as protective of her students as a mother would have been. "I happen to know that this particular girl is still a virgin, unlike many of her peers… or was, before last night. How could you do such a thing?"

"I… Antoinette…" He cast around in his mind, trying to find some excuse, some explanation, but nothing came. In the face of her tirade, he was helpless.

"You are always wailing about how the whole world sees you as a monster. You always tell me that you are not as evil as the world makes you seem. And I believed you until now. How can you justify the rape of an innocent girl?"

Her accusation stung him to the core. "I did not rape her, Antoinette. I… she… we…"

"What you have done is despicable and terrible. I have known you for so long, and there are a lot of things that I knew you to be capable of, but this…" She pointed to the bed. "This is not one of those things."

He couldn't defend himself because the things Antoinette was screaming were being echoed by his mind. _You were an animal with her last night,_ it scolded. _You took what you wanted and did not ask her. She must have been so frightened. Why could you not have left her alone? And to know that you were the one who spoiled her… you are the monster everyone claims you to be. How could you have done that to her?_

Madame Giry saw the self-blame in his eyes, but didn't want to acknowledge it. To avoid seeing his pain, she turned back to look at Alison… and Alison looked back at her.

When she saw Madame Giry looking at her, she pulled the sheet around her for the sake of modesty. Her eyes grew wide and frightened. Madame Giry began to say something to her, but Angelique quickly put her finger to her lips. She searched around desperately for a piece of paper. She found one and grabbed a quill that sat by the bed in case Erik had flashes of brilliance during the night. Quickly, she scribbled in all capital letters, WE NEED TO TALK. Madame Giry gave her a brief nod and turned to Erik.

"I would like some time alone with my student," she said sharply. "Let me speak with her and comfort her, poor girl." She was hurting him intentionally, wanting to make him sorry for what he had done. She immediately regretted it afterwards as she saw the agonized look on his face. He nodded slowly.

"I will go and leave you alone with her. If she is not there when I return, I will understand." He seemed to be forcing the last words out, trying to avoid begging Madame Giry to let Alison stay. He brushed past her, walking towards the bed. Alison quickly hid the paper and pretended to be asleep just as he came into view. He stood looking down at her for a moment. He wanted to kiss her lips, but with Madame Giry watching him like a hawk, he knew that wasn't an option. Instead, he quickly kissed her forehead and walked away.

As soon as the sound of his footsteps faded, Madame Giry turned back to Alison, who was now sitting up in bed, still holding the sheet. They looked at each other in silence for a moment, and then Madame Giry knelt by the bedside. "Words cannot express how sorry I am for what happened to you, Angelique. Erik is my friend, and so I feel all the more responsible. I–"

Alison cut her off. "Before you say anything else, Madame Giry, please allow me to explain myself. I was not forced or coerced in any way. I'm here because I want to be, not because he made me."

Madame Giry frowned. "Then please explain why you pretended to sleep and tried to escape his notice."

"I wanted to talk to you alone," Alison explained. "I figured I had a better chance of explaining what actually happened than he does. I thought you'd believe me more than you'd believe him when I say that everything that happened was consensual."

"You truly were not raped or violated in any way?"

"No. I was the one who encouraged him, actually." Alison turned a little red and looked down.

"Why?"

Alison met her gaze with clear eyes. "Because I love him."

Madame Giry froze, unable to believe what she had just heard. "I beg your pardon?"

"I love him," Alison repeated. "More than anyone I've ever known before."

"How long have you known him?"

Alison frowned, thinking. "Um… maybe two and a half years? No, wait, it's more like two years and nine months, since I met him a month after I came. I think."

Madame Giry was completely in shock. One of her ballet girls had just professed her undying love for the man she had been positive would never have a lover. Not only that, but they had a relationship for more than two years and she _hadn't known_. Admittedly, she hadn't spent all that much time with Erik lately, but even so, she should have recognized the signs. All of Alison's mysterious absences on her days off suddenly began to make sense. The more she thought about it, the guiltier she felt about the way she had treated Erik. She wanted to show him that she was sorry, but she knew that with his temper, he wouldn't let her near enough to apologize. Suddenly her mind hit upon the one thing she could do to convince him. She looked at Alison.

"What is it that you want to happen next?"

Alison thought about it. "Truthfully? I'd like to stay here with him, if that's all right with you. I just… we have so much to talk about and I–"

"Yes, you may," Madame Giry cut her off. Alison's answer was the one she had been hoping to hear. "I will allow you to spend this day with him. But," she warned, over Alison's exclamations of delight and thanks, "You must return to my office at five o'clock exactly or there will be consequences."

Alison nodded quickly, looking a little like a bobble-head. "Yes, Madame. Oh, thank you so much!" She moved to embrace Madame Giry, then stopped as she remembered her lack of clothes. She blushed, feeling awkward.

Madame Giry smiled. "I shall expect you back promptly at five." She turned to leave the lair. As she was at the doorway, she stopped and looked at Alison. "Have fun!" She winked. And before Alison could reply, she was gone.

Erik wandered the tunnels for a while, trying to escape the shame and guilt that was eating him alive. Madame Giry's words bounced around in his head. _Monster…despicable… terrible…and the worst part is that I deserve every word._ He started to berate himself even more when a thought occurred to him. _It was Angelique who encouraged me, seduced me, really. Who is Antoinette to call me a monster? She doesn't even know what happened! I'll go back there and I don't care what she's saying to Angelique, I'll explain to her what really happened and then expel her from my rooms and my life._ He strode angrily back towards his lair, ready to give Madame Giry a piece of his mind. He got to the entrance and stopped, realizing that Madame Giry had gone. _That means that my Angelique is gone as well._ He slumped dejectedly and walked over to his desk, not even looking at the bed. He sat down, staring moodily into space when a voice cut through his thoughts.

"For all you boast of your observation skills, you really are blind, aren't you?"

His head whipped around in the direction on the voice and saw Alison, sitting on the bed, still covering herself with a sheet. She grinned at the look on his face.

"Madame Giry decided to let me stay. I don't know why. You know, I think she was just guilty after I explained to her that all of the things she accused you of were false. So you've got me for most of the day, but I have to be back by five."

He stared at her, unbelieving. _She wants to stay… she doesn't think it was rape…she's happy. _He was about to express his gratitude to her when his desire asserted itself. _She is there, in _your_ bed, wearing nothing but a sheet. Why are you still sitting here?_ He jumped up, ran to the bed, and picked her up, sheets and all. "A whole day, hmm? And I know exactly what I am going to do with it." With that, he kissed her deeply, a kiss of relief and thanks and hot desire all at the same time. She wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back as the sheet slipped to the floor…

Madame Giry stepped through the mirror, almost unable to believe what had just happened. _Erik found someone who loves him… who really loves him and defends him… I don't understand this at all, but I'm happy for him. _A slight smile lifted her lips. She went to leave the prima donna's dressing room, but just as she reached for the doorknob, someone else flung the door open. She was about to scold the person on the other side, but she took one look at him and realized… "Patrick."

"Madame Giry!" His voice was frantic. "Did you talk to the person that you said might know where she was? Did he know? Where did she go?"

"Erm… yes, I did speak with my friend. I am not at liberty to say where she went, since I swore that I would not tell a soul."

Patrick sighed, exasperated. "But you can tell me, I'm her bo–cousin! I'm family! Don't I have a right to know where she went?"

Madame Giry searched for a way to soothe him without telling him the whole truth. "I will only tell you the general shape of it so that you will not be concerned. The truth is that she went to meet her lover. Now will you let me pass, please?"

As soon as the word 'lover' left her mouth, Patrick's demeanor completely changed. Instead of concerned, he became angry.

"A lover?" he repeated.

"Yes."

"And please explain to me," he said testily, "why you allowed her to stay with him? I thought you were into discipline! How could you?"

"I have my own personal reasons. It is not for you to question them. Now you know that she is safe, let me pass." She tried to push past him, but he grabbed her shoulders with a bruising grip and his face came very close to hers.

"Who is he?" Patrick hissed through his teeth. Madame Giry was alarmed. She had always thought of Patrick as sweet and somewhat vapid. But she looked into his eyes calmly.

"I am not at liberty to say. And even if I were, I would not tell you. He is a man who likes to keep his secrets."

"If you can't tell me who he is, will you at least tell me where she went?"

Madame Giry didn't reply. Her eyes flicked briefly to the large mirror in the corner of the room, betraying her answer. And the pieces clicked together in Patrick's mind.

_Unsigned notes, roses, likes to keep secrets and remain unknown, Madame Giry's friend… of course. Why didn't I see it before?_ Rage began building inside him. He pushed Madame Giry away and began to scream.

"How dare she! How dare she leave me for that… that… that _thing_? She wouldn't! She couldn't! But I should have seen it before."

"Please wait a moment," said Madame Giry, confused. "You know about him?"

"Of course I know about him!" Patrick yelled, frustrated. "It's all she would talk about, Phantom of the Opera this and Phantom of the Opera that. I never understood why she could actually like that freak when he was just a character. But how could she break up with me for him?" All of a sudden his bluster was gone and he sunk to the floor. "I always had my pick of any girl I wanted. But now all I want is her and she's off with a man who doesn't even have a proper face! Why? What did I do that made her run away from me?" Despair began to eat him up. It was one thing to suspect that she had a lover, but quite another to discover who it was. Hurt and sadness consumed him, making him long for an escape, anything… anything… Without another word, he ran out of the room, leaving a shocked and scared Madame Giry behind him.

**What's Patrick going to do now? ;) Please review and tell me what you think!**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: For everyone who has reviewed and continues to read this story, thank you so much! This chapter is going to be a little difficult to read, just to warn you. It's also kind of mature. I'm apologizing in advance for what's about to happen.**

**And to the Guest who asked me this, Alison Taylor was not named after Taylor Alison Swift. **

Chapter Nineteen

Alison and Erik were laying on the rooftop on top of a small picnic blanket, enjoying the clear, dark blue sky of early evening. They didn't speak or touch, just reveled in the sensation of being near each other. Erik wasn't wearing his mask, and the fresh air on his face felt strange, but beautiful. He felt more accepted and loved in this moment than he ever had in his entire life. Alison let her mind drift, allowing herself to simply be with him. Neither of them wanted the moment to end. All of a sudden, Alison remembered something and sat up with a gasp.

"Erik! What time is it?"

He struggled to move and craned his neck to look at his pocket watch. "It is five o'clock exactly. Why do you ask?"

Her eyes widened. "Madame Giry told me to be back by five! I have to go now. I'm so sorry, but I promised her."

He nodded reluctantly. "If you made her a promise, you should keep it. But will you allow me to give you two last things before you go?"

"All right," Alison said, smiling.

He smiled back at her. "One." Out of nowhere, he produced a rose with a small stem and tucked it behind her ear, into her flowing hair. Her hand moved and touched the petals gently.

Before she could thank him, he leaned close to her and kissed her gently, softly. She kissed him back, her lips full of the love she felt. He pulled back slowly. "Two," he whispered. "Now you can go, mon coeur. I love you."

"I love you too," she said softly. "I'll see you soon."

Then she turned and skipped to the door and off the rooftop. Her head was full of Erik: his touch, his kisses, everything about him. She was encased in her love. She felt untouchable, as if nothing could go wrong.

She was so absent-minded that she took the wrong turn in the tunnels and found herself in the passage that led to the mirror door. She looked into the prima donna's dressing room, and, seeing no one there, decided to take that exit. _One time taking the wrong door isn't going to hurt anyone,_ she thought. She pushed the catch and was deposited gently into the dressing room. She was on her way out when a slurred voice from behind her stopped her.

_"So it's true."_ She turned sharply to see Patrick leaning against the wall next to the mirror. He had a bottle in his hand and swung it back and forth in a languid way. As he approached her, she could smell the sharp scent of the alcohol on his breath.

_"Tell me, Alison, was it any good with that monster? Or did the sight of his face make you throw up?"_

A small, unexplainable snake of cold fear slipped into her. _"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, Patrick. Have you been drinking?"_

He dropped the bottle and laughed, a small, short, sharp laugh. _"Don't try to deny it to me. I know where you've been. I know who your lover is."_

She started to take deep breaths, trying to fight the panic that was beginning to well inside her. _"Bravo! Top of the class,"_ she said, trying to be blasé and flippant. _"Now that you've proved your intelligence, I'm going. I'm late and Madame Giry will have my hide."_

With speed she didn't think possible, Patrick slipped to the door and leaned in the doorframe. His manner was casual, but it sent a clear message: You're not going anywhere.

She backed away from him and tried to run to the mirror. He caught her arm in a bruising grip and pulled her to him. The smell of the alcohol overpowered her. _"You refused me for a deformed, murdering freak. You made yourself his slut and let him have you when you wouldn't allow me even a touch. You made the wrong choice. You've been bad. So I think, little miss Alison, you should be punished."_ He spoke to her in a mock baby voice.

Her face remained calm, but her insides were screaming and terrified. _"Get off me, Patrick,"_ she said steadily.

He shook his head, a scary smile spreading across his face. _"No, I don't think I will. You're mine, Alison Taylor. No matter how much you think you care about that thing, you will always be mine. Now I think it's time that you understood that too."_

His hand snaked around to the back of her head and crashed her lips to his. She struggled, squirming and twisting in his grip, but she couldn't get free of him. Finally he came up for air, gasping.

She used the hand that he wasn't grabbing to slap him hard in the face. She was expecting the shock to be so great that he would let go, and she would run out of the room and to the safety of Madame Giry's office. That was the theory, anyway. But instead, Patrick just grabbed her hand an inch from his face and kept her wrist in an iron grip. He twisted both her wrists behind her back, catching them in one hand. He kissed again, rough and demanding, as he pushed her back, so that she was pressed against the wall.

_"Get off me. Get off me, you sick bastard! Let me go!"_ Alison screamed as loudly as she was able, but Patrick's lips cut off her scream.

_"No, no, no, no. You mustn't scream and ruin the game."_ He leaned close to her face, with a predatory look in his eyes. _"And the more you fight, the more pain you'll be caused, I swear to God. Shut up or I'll kill you, you little slut."_

By now, there was no doubt in her mind what he meant to do. _"You'll never get away with this,"_ she hissed. _"Erik will come and kick your ass. He loves me. He'll kill you."_

There was a smug smile on Patrick's face. _"Not if he doesn't know I've done it."_

_"Can you hide it? I'll tell him myself."_

Patrick raised an eyebrow. _"Will you? Will you really tell him about what I'll do to you on the floor of the prima donna's dressing room? It'll only prove to him that you're the whore that I've always known you are. It'll show him how worthless you truly are. When he finds out, he'll get on up and walk away. And I'm pretty sure you don't want that to happen. Now shut up and stop trying to attack me, or I'll make you suffer."_

She struggled, fighting him. She tried to kick him where she knew it would hurt most, but their close proximity meant that she couldn't get enough leverage to make it have any effect on him. Patrick's eyes narrowed. _"Getting feisty, hmm? We'll soon remedy that."_ With his knee keeping her pinned against the wall, he stripped off his shirt and grabbed a dress that was laid over a couch. He twisted them like ropes and used them to tie her wrists to the legs of the dressing table. Once he was sure that she was secured, he turned to the door and locked it securely as Alison thrashed and fought, attempting to get free. Then he grabbed the dressing screen and dragged it over in front of the large mirror.

_"Now even your little boyfriend can't interrupt us. Let's see if you're as good as he seems to think you are."_

"Erik! Erik! Please help me!" She waited, hoping, praying that he would hear her, but no one came. Slowly her mind came to realize that no one would come. No one would ever come.

The terror took over Alison's mind as Patrick approached and reached for her dress…

Madame Giry waited in her office at 5:45, pacing back and forth. _I know that she's in love and happy with Erik, but is it so difficult to be on time? She leaves me no choice but to go and fetch her._ She got up and walked briskly to the prima donna's dressing room. The door was slightly ajar. Madame Giry flung it open, intending to go through the mirror and give the happy couple a piece of her mind… then stopped, frozen in shock at the sight before her.

The room was a mess. Furniture was knocked over and dresses were strewn all over the floor. The dressing screen was in front of the mirror, shielding it from view. But Madame Giry's eye was drawn to the person who lay unconscious on the floor.

Alison's hair was spread out about her in complete disarray. Purple bruises were beginning to form all over her. Her dress was ripped to shreds, barely covering her skin. There were marks that resembled rope burns on her wrists. Her right hand was clutched in a fist over something that Madame Giry couldn't see. The fist looked like it had been stepped on repeatedly. Although she was unconscious, there was still pain and fear etched on her features.

Madame Giry knelt down beside her prone body and gently brushed her hair away from her face. "Oh, Angelique," she whispered softly, her voice full of tenderness and pain. "What has happened to you?"

But she didn't need to ask the question. She knew. There was no conclusion that could be reached from the sight before her other than the truth.

Alison had been raped.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

As Madame Giry knelt by Alison's prone body, stroking her hair, only one coherent thought was going through her mind. _Erik needs to know about this. Erik needs to take care of her._ She placed a kiss on Alison's forehead and strode to the mirror, pushed the screen aside, and pushed the catch that put her into the tunnels.

She walked slowly at first, not relishing the idea of what she was about to do, but then walked faster and began to run.

She ran all the way through the tunnels and arrived at Erik's house completely out of breath. She leaned against the side of the entrance, trying to catch her breath and looking around for Erik.

She saw him at his desk, drawing feverishly and humming under his breath. When she craned her neck to look at his drawings, she felt a sick lurch in her stomach. The image he was capturing on paper was Alison, looking beautiful, happy, and innocent. When Madame Giry compared his drawing to the Alison she had seen, she wanted to cry for everything that Alison had lost. But now there was no time.

"Erik." Her voice shattered the tranquility of the scene. His head whipped around and he saw her.

"Antoinette! What are you doing here so soon? She did come back to you, I am sorry if she was a little late. But I have so much to thank you for. Today was the most wonderful day in my entire existence! I could hardly believe that it was real. I–"

"Erik." She cut him off, and only then did he fully notice the look on her face. He frowned in confusion.

"What is it?"

"Erik, Alison has been hurt."

He froze. "What?" he asked quietly.

"You need to come quickly. She is unconscious, but she may wake up soon and need your support."

"What happened?"

Madame Giry pressed her lips together for a moment. "Erik," she said, barely getting the words out, "I think that she has been raped."

Erik's heart stopped. Every vein in his body went cold and frozen. "No…" he whispered, disbelieving. "Not her. Please God, not her." His voice was strangled.

After a moment, he looked up at Madame Giry. "Where is she? I need to be with her now," he said, his voice desperate.

"Come with me," said Antoinette. She turned and walked back into the tunnels.

Erik jumped up and walked quickly behind her, pushing her to go faster. Soon they arrived in the mirror and jumped out.

Erik's eyes landed on Alison's prone body. Madame Giry's eyes darted between Erik and Alison's body.

"I ought to go," she said, and ran from the room, trying to escape the terrible look on Erik's face.

Erik knelt down beside her softly, examining the bruises to try and be sure that she was all right. His face was blank, but his mind was screaming. _Why? Why did this happen? What kind of son of a bitch would do this to her?_

His eyes lighted on her closed fist. He reached slowly for it and tried to pull her fingers apart. They wouldn't go, for a moment, but finally they came apart. When Erik saw what she was holding, a bolt of pain shot through him.

The petals of the flower he had tucked in her hair less than an hour ago dripped from her hand, crumpled and broken. Erik stared for a moment then softly took Alison's body in his arms and began to cry.

"Oh, Angelique," he whispered brokenly. "I am so, so sorry."

He held her for a while, rocking her back and forth.

Alison's eyes shot open. She felt arms, imprisoning and stifling, holding her body close to someone else's. _Patrick…_ She began to writhe and twist, trying to escape, to get help, to hurt him, anything. "_No! Stop! Get off me!"_ Suddenly the arms let go and she jumped up, trying to run away. She found herself in a corner, hands pressed against the two walls. She searched the room quickly for a way out, for help, for something. Her breath was coming quickly as she tried to find her attacker.

There was only Erik, kneeling on the floor, looking bewildered and hurt. Only then did she realize that he was the one who had been holding her. Her breath still came in gasps, but they were shorter, quicker. Her eyes dropped to the floor for a moment as the events of the last half an hour hit her.

_Patrick walking toward her… on top of her… hurting her… Erik's flower on the floor…grab it, it's his gift…screaming… but no one comes…the smell of alcohol…pain…blackness._

She looked up into Erik's eyes. "Angelique," he whispered, his voice laden with pain, hurt, and compassion.

"Erik." Her voice came out in a broken gasp. "I'm… I'm sorry."

Her legs couldn't hold her anymore and she slid down the wall. Her knees were pressed to her chest in the small space and she began to cry, shoulders shaking with the weight of her sobs.

Erik felt her pain in his chest like a physical wound. He slowly came closer to her, as if he were approaching a wounded bird.

"Angelique," he said softly, "I will not harm you in any way. I promise. Please allow me to help you. I cannot simply sit here while you suffer. Please."

She shook her head, burying her face deep into her hands. They stayed like that for a while; Alison crying and Erik awkwardly crouching near her. He saw her tears but was unable to hold her the way he wanted to because of her fear.

Finally her crying slowed. She looked up at Erik, shame and pain reflected in her eyes, and crawled out of the corner to face him. "Erik, I…"

"Shh." He put a finger over her lips, not touching her, just silencing her. "You do not need to be ashamed, or sorry with me. I love you, Angelique, and I will be here for you no matter what happens." He opened his arms.

She looked at him, the desire to believe shining through.

"Please," he said softly. "Let me hold you. Let me help you."

She saw the sincerity in his eyes and scooted over, carefully placing herself in his arms. They curled around her, pulling her close to him. Her head drooped on his shoulder and he buried his face in her hair, giving himself comfort from her presence.

Then he shifted his position, getting one of his arms under her knees. "I am going to take you to my house, if that is all right with you. I believe you are not in any condition to see people at this moment, yes?"

She nodded her acquiescence. He scooped her into his arms and carried her all the way down to his lair. She pressed herself against his chest, breathing in his scent and his very presence. She felt safe and loved in his arms. But a small part of her mind was yelling at him, ranting and raving. _I screamed for you, I called for you, I _needed_ you. The one time I needed you and you weren't there._ She mentally shook herself. _How would he be able to hear you? He would have had no idea that something was wrong and even if he did, he wouldn't have been able to get there in time to stop it happening. Just let go of whatever it is that's making you resent him, because he's going to be essential to your recovery._

They arrived at his home and he laid her gently down on the bed. He touched her cheek softly, eyes full of concern. "This seems an inane question, but are you all right? Is there anything I can do to help you?"

She thought about it. "Yes, actually," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "Is there any way that I can have a bath?"

He nodded quickly. "Yes. There is a bathtub behind the door next to the kitchen. I will fetch water and fill it for you." He walked off quickly.

She sat unmoving in the bed, staring into space. She was fighting with her mind, trying desperately not to remember, not to feel, not to think at all. Her skin crawled with the memory of Patrick's touch, and the bruises all over her arms would not allow her to forget it. She felt dirty, as if she were contaminating the very air she breathed.

Erik was back soon with a dress, a towel, and a cake of soap. He handed all three articles to her and said, "There is water in the bathtub. I will leave you alone. If you need me, call out and I will be there, I promise you." There was a dark look in his eyes and she saw the self-blame deep inside them. Blame for what had happened to her, for not hearing her, for not being there. A ripple of tenderness swept her heart for a moment. She fit her hand to the contours of his unmasked cheek.

"Erik, none of this was your fault," she told him softly, answering the words he hadn't said. "You shouldn't blame yourself: if it was anyone's fault, it's his."

He placed his hand over hers. "Whose fault is it then? Who was it who did this to you?"

A spark of fear shot through her at his question. Patrick's words echoed through her head: "_It'll show him how worthless you truly are. When he finds out, he'll get on up and walk away."_ The small measure of peace she had regained was lost with the thought of him. She involuntarily pulled her hand back.

Erik saw the panic in her eyes as she turned away from him and folded her arms tightly across her chest. "It doesn't matter. May I please be alone?"

He was slightly hurt, but knew that it would be best not to push her. "Of course."

As soon as Erik was out of earshot, she ran to the bathtub, stripped off what was left of her dress, and plunged herself into the water. It was scalding, but she didn't care. She took the soap that he had given her and began dragging it roughly across her body, trying to erase every memory of Patrick's touch. Every time she touched one of her bruises, she let out a gasp of pain, but kept on going. Finally her skin was pink and burning, but she felt cleaner than she had before. She sunk her entire body into the rapidly cooling bath, trying to let her mind go blank, but it was no use. Knowing that she wasn't going to get anything out of staying longer, she pulled herself out of the bath and dried herself off with the towel, being as gentle with her skin as possible. Once she was dry, she picked up the dress and almost dropped it as a wave of emotions swept through her. It was one of the dresses she had bought yesterday, a twin to the dress she had worn this morning with Erik.

Looking at the dress, she could hardly believe that it had only been this morning that she had been so happy and blissfully in love. It felt like years ago. She felt so _old_, and the pain overwhelmed her as she sank to the floor, sobbing.

That was how Erik found her when he came back to check on her. The towel was wrapped around her and she was clutching the dress, crying and rocking back and forth. He didn't say anything, simply taking her into his arms and holding her close. Finally, by force of will, she made herself stop crying and shooed Erik away so she could get dressed. She pulled on the dress without looking at it again and made her way through the lair towards the sound of the music floating around the space.

Erik was sitting at his organ. Music flowed from his fingers, melodies shifting and changing effortlessly from one to another. She stood behind him, immersing herself in the music, forgetting everything but the notes that wound insidiously through her ears and into her heart. It relaxed her every muscle and calmed her down, pushing lingering traces of tears from her eyes. She sat down quietly on the bench next to him, wanting to get closer to him, to the music, to peace. He didn't notice her presence until her arm accidentally brushed against his. He jumped with surprise, but kept playing. Eventually, he ended the melody and let the notes trail off into silence.

"Thank you," she said softly.

His mouth quirked in a small smile. "I see no reason for you to thank me. I was simply doing what I love best. Would you like to have dinner now or would you rather go to sleep?" he asked, changing topics abruptly.

"I would rather sleep, if you don't mind. It's kind of been a long day."

He nodded, understanding.

She hesitated. "Should I… I mean…where do you want me to sleep? I'm good anywhere as long as–"

"You are sleeping in the bed," he said firmly. "As you said, you have had a long day and you need a better rest than I do."

"Thanks again." She leaned close and ghosted her lips across his cheek. "Good night."

"Good night, Angelique." He smiled tenderly at her as she went to the bed.

She pulled herself under the covers and fell asleep to the lullaby he had written the first night they had met.

She slept peacefully through most of the night.

And then the nightmares began.

**Please review!**


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

_Worthless…lower than the lowest…whore…_

Erik was dozing in his chair after a long night of composing in his head when he was awakened by a blood-curdling scream.

"_No! No, please! Stop! Get off me!"_ He jumped up, at the ready. Looking around for the intruder, he cursed himself for leaving his lasso so far out of reach. Then his eyes fell on Alison. She was thrashing around the bed, as if she was trying to escape an imaginary attacker, screaming.

He understood at once and was over by her bedside in a flash. "Angelique! Angelique, wake up."

Her eyes snapped open and she sat up quickly, looking around wildly. "_What…where…"_ Then she noticed Erik and relaxed, still shaking. She rubbed her hand over her face. "God…"

Erik gently put his arms around her and pulled her close. "It is all right, mon coeur. You are safe now, I promise you."

She nodded, knowing it was true.

She felt him hesitate, then he said, "But who are you afraid of? Who is it that haunts your nightmares like this?"

She tensed. Patrick's words still played through her head. "No."

"What?"

"No, I'm not going to tell you."

"But why? You know that I am only trying to protect you. Why will you not tell me his name?"

"I can't. I just can't, okay?"

For a moment it seemed as if he was going to argue, but then he sighed. "If that is your wish, Angelique, I will not ask again."

She relaxed into him, letting the sound of his heartbeat and his warm arms around her soothe her back to sleep.

Over the next two weeks, their days fell into a quiet, comfortable rhythm. Alison didn't cry during the day anymore. Her heart was healing and she felt less scared. She was also pushing the tears down, out of the way. She didn't want to seem weak or helpless, especially to Erik. Unfortunately, she couldn't keep the pain away for long. During the night, when she was off her guard, it all came back twice as strong, as if it were mocking her efforts to make it go away. But Erik was always there to hold her, soothe her, and rock her back to sleep.

There was one spot of contention between the two of them, however: Alison's refusal to tell Erik the name of the man who raped her. Erik couldn't understand why she was hiding it from him. He went over hundreds of possibilities in his mind, but he couldn't come up with any feasible possibilities. His main concern was that if she didn't tell him the name, he couldn't revenge her short of killing every man within a ten-mile radius. And even then, that might not affect the man he was after. So he kept asking her about it, but she would refuse to tell him every time. She just seemed so…scared of this man, or of telling him, or of both.

Alison _was_ scared. An irrational part of her brain had taken Patrick's taunting words and made them into a reality. She had almost become convinced that if she told Erik that Patrick had attacked her, he would dump her out into the streets and leave her to fend for herself. The tiny, rational part of her brain always scolded her for that. _He's been with you for quite a while now. He's not just going to dump you. Patrick tried to convince you of that because he didn't want you to tell anyone what he did. Is that what you want? For him never to get caught, never to pay for what he's done to you. You need to tell Erik, to show him that you trust him, if for no other reason._ That battle raged inside her every day, even more prominent when Erik asked her straight out.

She refused to tell him, and he didn't understand why. It was making them both irritated and crabby. The perfect mixture for an argument.

It came near the end of the day two weeks after the rape had happened. They were sitting quietly. He was drawing and she was writing a poem. Suddenly Erik looked up and took a deep breath. "Angelique. You know that I care about you more than anything else in the world besides my music. I cannot stay idle while you are suffering like this. Please. Tell me who it was."

The war inside her was raging even more fiercely than usual and her frustration at herself and at Patrick burst its dams. Directly at Erik.

"Oh my God…Erik! I've told you over and over and over again that I will NOT tell you! My reasons are my own. Why can't you respect that? I haven't told you these two weeks and there's a very good reason for that. So just leave me alone about it, okay? I appreciate everything you've done for me and you've been great, but I can't tell you. That's all there is to it. Stop asking." She fell silent, her mouth stubbornly clenched, and continued writing her poem. He stared at her for a moment, feeling his own frustration build inside him.

"Please forgive me for trying to help you! That is my only motive in asking you. I cannot see why it is so difficult to tell me who attacked you. I have done everything I possibly can, and yet you still will not tell me his name. Why? Is it because you do not trust me enough?"

"No!" she denied hotly. "There are other reasons, things you wouldn't understand. It has nothing to do with you."

"I cannot understand these things if you do not tell me!"

"Well, I can't. And I won't. So LEAVE ME ALONE ABOUT IT!"

She felt awful the moment she said the words. The look in Erik's eyes was almost fragile.

"Of course, Angelique," he said softly. "I will not bother you again."

There was a sinking feeling in her stomach. "Erik, I'm so sorry."

"No. I understand." He sighed. "I will go to bed now, if you do not mind."

She stretched out her hands. "Erik…"

He got up and walked quietly to bed. She hid her face in her hands.

Perhaps it was the argument that made her unconsciously reveal her attacker to him.

After Alison had gone to sleep, Erik sat in his chair, staring at nothing. He was waiting for the nightmares to come, for Alison to scream so that he could hold her again and tell her that everything was going to be all right. Even though he was more than a little hurt by her refusal to trust him, he knew he still needed to be there for her. She needed him.

And it shocked him when the first thing she said in her sleep was, "Patrick." Erik froze. _No, no, no. Because of the argument, is she dreaming about another man holding her? Another man kissing her? And not just another man, that man. The one that she left on the rooftop. Why? Why would she be saying his name in her sleep?_

"Patrick." Her sleep-blurred voice echoed through the lair. The second repetition made him notice the terrified tone of her voice. _Wait. Why would she be saying his name like that unless…_

She began to thrash wildly and he ran to sit beside her. _"Patrick, no! Please stop!"_

Even though he didn't understand her words, he understood the tone. It was Patrick. Patrick who had hurt her, who had been the cause of her misery for the past two weeks. Erik felt the anger build inside of him, but he forced himself to calm down in order to help Alison.

_"Help!"_ she screamed, and then woke up in a flash. And there was Erik, sitting by her bedside just as he always did, but now there was a strange look in his eyes. He put his arms around her and pulled her close.

"Shhh, Angelique. You are all right. You are safe. I am here." She laid her head on his chest, breathing in his scent. There was a comfortable, soothing silence for a moment. Then Erik said, "Was it Patrick?"

She froze. _How did he…how could he find out?_ He felt her tense and knew that he was right.

He stroked her hair softly. "Why did you not tell me before?"

She sighed and closed her eyes. "It's really stupid and really irrational, but while he was…well, you know…he told me that if I told anyone, especially you, you would leave me. He said that…" Her voice choked and she couldn't say anything else.

A soft look came into Erik's eyes. _She didn't tell me because she was afraid I would leave her. How the world has turned upside down._

"Angelique, look at me." She raised her head and met his eyes, her expression hoping but vulnerable, like a small child.

"I promise you that I will not leave you in that way. As I told you, I care about you far too much to do anything of the sort. There was never any need to be scared. I love you. I think no less of you now that I know. Please believe me."

She sighed and laid her head back on his chest without saying anything. She began to shake, and he was worried that she was displeased with his promise, when he felt the salty tears beginning to soak his shirt.

"What…"

"I should have told you before," she wept. "I should have said something, shouldn't have been worried. You've been so good to me, I just didn't want there ever to be a chance that you would go away."

"There is none," he soothed her, stroking her hair. "I will not leave you. You were the first person who truly loved me. I never thought I would have anything like this. I never thought there would be anyone like you. In this time with you, I have been happier than I ever have in my entire life. Do you understand? If nothing else, I am far too selfish to ever let you go."

She smiled through her tears. "And I love you more than I've ever loved anyone else," she said in a watery voice. "Can you forgive me?"

"Of course, mon coeur," he said softly. "But will you tell me about him? About what happened, now that I know?"

She felt so safe, so comfortable in his arms, that she couldn't stop the words tumbling out of her. She told Erik everything.

She told him about how they had met in college, the dates they would go on. She told him about his push for sex, her refusals. She told him about coming back to France and her decision to break up with Patrick. How scary he had been, trying to find out the identity of her lover. She described the rape for the first time.

By the end of it, both of their faces were wet with tears and a burning anger was beginning to grow inside Erik.

_How dare he? How dare this man come and do all of those horrible things to my Angelique? _My_ Angelique. I will make him suffer. If I can do nothing else, I will make. Him. Suffer._

He buried his anger until after they had breakfast, sharing secretive smiles and soft touches.

"Angelique, there is something I need to do in the opera house. Are you averse to being alone here for half an hour?"

She shook her head. "No, I'm okay with that. Just promise that you'll be back," she said, half joking and half serious.

He touched her face gently. "I promise you that I will come back." He kissed her lips swiftly and walked away, concealing the Punjab lasso hidden inside his shirt and feeling the anger burn strong and hot inside of him.

**Now that Erik has found out, what's he going to do to Patrick? Please review!**


	22. Chapter 22

**Sorry that this is a little late, I had some trouble with how to write this scene. But here it is, finally. Enjoy!**

Chapter Twenty-Two

Patrick was talking and laughing with his friends on the side of the stage as two of the crewmembers were attempting to move a particularly heavy piece of scenery. The pace of the rehearsal had slowed and everyone was enjoying a moment to talk to each other.

Suddenly the doors at the back of the stage banged open and a man dressed entirely in black with a white mask strode through, silencing everyone as they turned to look at him. He paused for a moment as his eyes roved the crowd, searching. They locked on Patrick and a murderous glint came into them. His quick, heavy strides took him to the small clump of stagehands, who were still talking and laughing loudly. They didn't notice him until he pushed through their numbers to Patrick. Patrick saw him and his eyes widened with shock and a tinge of fear as Erik grabbed his neck and slammed him against the wall.

"What did you do to her, you bastard?" he growled through his teeth.

Patrick made a futile attempt to stay calm in the face of Erik's rage. "Oh hi there, I've been expecting you. I must say, it took a shorter time than I thought for you to come."

It was the wrong thing to say. Erik's fingers pressed Patrick closer to the wall, cutting off his air supply more. "Why? Because you managed to convince her that if she told me about you I would leave her? Yes, that was very well done," he said sarcastically.

"I had to have some way of making sure she kept her mouth shut. Pity that it didn't work."

Erik let out an almost animalistic growl. White anger burned behind his eyes. "Yes, you were trying to hide from me. Trying to hide the fact of what you have done to the woman I love. But Monsieur Patrick, I am the Phantom of the Opera. I know everything. You should have expected me to come."

"Yes. Because it was all your fault," Patrick taunted.

Erik froze for a moment. Those simple words cut him to the core. Secretly, he had blamed himself for it ever since he saw the broken rose in Alison's hand. And he knew that it wasn't just coincidence that she had been raped the same day she had slept with him.

But then he looked at Patrick's face, which was smug even while being strangled, and anger coursed through him again. He pressed Patrick's throat closer to the wall. "My fault? MY fault? I was not the one who locked her in a room. I was not the one who tied her to a table and had my way with her even though she was screaming. I was not the one who hit her and bruised her whenever she tried to escape. Search all you want, but the blame for what happened to her cannot be pinned on me. You know that as well as I do. You want to make it someone else's fault so that you do not have to face what you have done. But you will face it. I will make you face it."

His grip grew tighter as he spoke and Patrick began to claw at his fingers.

"Get off, dammit," Patrick choked. "You're a monster."

Using the fingers around his throat, Erik threw Patrick to the ground. "After everything you have done, you dare call me a monster? You are not even deserving of the title. You are devil spawn. Did you care? Did you care that she was in love with me? Did you care that she was hurting? Did you care that she is having nightmares every night because of you?" He punctuated the last word with a kick to Patrick's side and Patrick curled around his foot in pain.

"I will equal every single bit of pain you have caused her, every time you have made her scream in agony and fear. I promised myself I would make you suffer, and I will."

Patrick's breath hissed through his teeth. "That seems a lot of trouble for a girl, doesn't it? More than she's worth, for sure."

"If you truly believe that, you never deserved to have her in the first place. She is beautiful–" he kicked Patrick's side, "smart–" another kick, "kind–" another, "accepting–" another, "and far too perfect for the likes of you. If you believe that she is not worth any of it, you are the blindest man who ever came to this earth. But you are something much worse than that."

"What am I, then?" Patrick was trying to maintain his bravado while he was curled up in pain on the floor.

"You are the slimiest weakling who ever crawled the earth. You are less important than the smallest worm. You are unintelligent, unwanted, and unneeded."

"What basis do you have for that assessment?"

"You hurt the woman I love. Hurt her so deeply that she cries in her sleep. You made her believe that there are circumstances under which I would ever leave her. You kicked her and bruised her and made her feel so worthless that she will not even look in a mirror because she is afraid of what she will see there. You have done all of these things to a girl who is better than you will ever be, and you do not care at all. You laugh in my face and taunt me for caring."

"She's not all that, you know. She's an idiot. After all, she slept with a monster, didn't she? Did she throw up when she saw your ugly face? I bet it was all just pity after that. She doesn't really love you; she just needed a good fuck. I showed her what a real man does, what a real man looks like. You should both thank me," he said, slowly getting to his feet. "I did your job for you. I'm surprised that the slut came running back to you, after me. And you should thank me for showing you how much of a whore she really is. It was clear to me the moment I found out that she had slept with you–"

Erik pushed him and he went down again, hitting his head hard on the floor.

"You are wrong," he hissed. "Wrong about her, wrong about us, wrong about everything. You have no shame. She is not a whore. From what she told me, she refused to sleep with you when you and she were together. You call her a slut because she made an adult decision. Even if it had not been me, it would have been a man she loved. And she never loved you, Patrick. She told me herself. It is me that she loves. Always me. She is mine now. If you think you can escape with hurting the best thing that has ever happened to me, you may want to reexamine the way you think. But I promise you, Patrick, that you will not escape from this alive."

"Oh look, how sweet," Patrick simpered. "The monster standing up for the whore. It should be a movie or something."

Erik spat at his feet. "You are the monster, not I. You are a despicable human being who does not deserve to walk this earth." His eyes showed none of the fiery anger from before. Now they were cold and deadly, boring into Patrick's skull and freezing his heart. True fear crept through him for the first time. His eyes darted around, searching for a way out. Erik noticed this and smirked.

"You pretend that you have no fear, but you are just as much of a coward as everybody else. You will be begging for mercy, and you will receive none. My heart is turned against you, and you cannot appeal to my better nature."

Everyone on the stage was staring in shock, hardly daring to breathe. No one wanted to incur the wrath of this frightening man who claimed to be the Opera Ghost.

Erik walked towards Patrick with slow, measured steps until he stood right above him. Patrick looked up into those cold eyes and something inside him snapped.

"Please don't! Please. I'll do anything, I'll never do anything like that again, just leave me alone! Don't hurt me, please don't hurt me, I was drunk and angry and I didn't know what I was doing, I didn't mean to take what's yours. Please, please, please!"

"All of the pleading in the world cannot save you now. You have cast your lot and cannot go back."

"I'm sorry for what I did, I'm so sorry!" He scrambled around Erik in an animalistic way, barely got to his feet, and tried to run away.

The lasso was too fast.

It caught him around the neck and his fingers immediately went to it, trying to pull it off. Erik dragged him closer using the lasso, choking him slowly as he went. He fell back against Erik, his air almost gone.

The last thing Patrick saw were those cold, cold eyes and the last thing he heard was Erik's whisper. "Too late."

Erik stared down at the corpse of his enemy, a triumphant smirk on his masked face. He had killed before, but never had he truly felt the perverse satisfaction that came with Patrick's death. He unhooked his lasso from Patrick's neck. Then he turned and stalked out as quickly as he had come.

**This chapter is a little short, apologies, but it got through the essence of the action. Everyone seems to have wanted me to kill Patrick off, and I have. I hope that it fulfilled your expectations and wishes :) Please review and let me know! **


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: Thank you all so much for your wonderful reviews on my last chapter! I'm glad that you enjoyed reading that scene as much as I loved writing it :)**

Chapter Twenty-Three

After Erik had gone, there was a moment of silence and absolute shock. Everyone was staring at the body that lay on the stage, with its face still showing traces of the fear and horror that Patrick had felt before he died. Nobody wanted to be the one to speak first, to let out the tide of feelings that was building up between everyone who had witnessed Patrick's death.

Suddenly the door from the ballet studios swung open and Madame Giry strode in briskly. She looked around at everyone's horrified faces, not seeing the body lying on the ground. "What is it? Why are you all standing there instead of practicing?"

Her question was the catalyst. Everyone started talking at once, trying to explain to her what had happened. She held out her hands, trying to stop the deluge of words.

"Everyone, please, calm down. I cannot understand you if you all speak at once. What is the problem?"

Paulette managed to make herself heard above the crowd. "The Opera Ghost just came in and killed Patrick!"

Madame Giry frowned. "Excuse me?"

Everyone moved aside, making Patrick's body visible. Madame Giry's eyes widened and she rushed over to kneel beside it. _Why?_ She wondered, confused. _Why would he kill a stagehand at random? Especially one who is related to Angelique. He would have no desire to hurt her; why did he do this?_

She turned to Paulette. "Did he say anything about why he killed Patrick?"

"He did," said Paulette slowly, "but it did not make any sense. He was yelling at him that he had hurt the woman he loved or something like that. Can ghosts fall in love?"

Madame Giry froze. _No. It couldn't have been…was it really Patrick? What reason would Patrick have to do something like that?_ The she remembered the look on Patrick's face when she had told him that Alison was in love. She remembered vaguely his moodiness in the past weeks. She remembered that she had found a bottle on the floor after the rape had happened. _Oh. Of course._

She stood up decisively. "If the Opera Ghost killed him, I am confident that he did something to deserve it. This need not be mentioned to the managers, is that clear?"

Nobody responded.

"I said, is that clear?"

There was a mumbling of "Yes, Madame."

"Good. Now get back to practicing! We have a show that we must perform in a week, and if you are not ready, I personally will punish you."

There was a much louder chorus of "Yes, Madame." They all rushed off to perform their various tasks, still very much shaken. After all, it wasn't every day that one witnesses a murder.

Erik walked quickly down the tunnels, trying to calm himself down before he got to his house. He succeeded in getting the anger to dissipate some, but the satisfaction remained. When he had killed before, there had been no real personal motive. He had always either been ordered to or that person was just simply in his way to achieving his goals (like Buquet and Piangi). After he had met Alison, he had stopped killing for both reasons in the hopes that she would stay his friend. He had learned from Christine that killing was always detrimental to a relationship, and he had no intention of making the same mistake with Alison.

But this…this was entirely different. This was a man who had hurt her. Hurt her badly. Made her wake up screaming and crying and fighting an invisible enemy. This man had done something unforgivable and he needed to be punished.

Erik had been an angel before. He had been the Angel of Death, and of course, the Angel of Music. But never had he been an Angel of Vengeance, dealing with past wrongs and crimes that would never be acknowledged. It had felt good, like he was finally doing something right with his talents.

He reached his house in a pensive but satisfied mood. Alison was sitting cross-legged on the floor, writing on a piece of parchment with one of his pens. She hadn't heard his footsteps or seen him come in. He tiptoed behind her and looked at what she was writing. As she raised the pen from the paper, whispered in her ear. "I wish that you would write these words in French so that I could understand them."

As he expected, she started violently and jumped to her feet, nearly upsetting the inkbottle that was perched precariously on a rock near her. She turned to face him, eyes shocked and frightened, then relaxed when she saw him.

"Erik! Why did you do that?"

He shrugged, smiling. "A different way of saying hello, mon amour."

A slight smile tugged at her lips. "Well, all right then. Just don't do it too much, or my heart might not survive."

"If you wish it, I will not."

"Good. Thank you."

Erik wandered over to his desk and removed his mask, sighing at the sensation of the cool air on his face. He never wore the mask while in Alison's company, but he still couldn't get used to having his face be completely bare. But it felt nice and Alison never teased him or made him feel inadequate because of it. He bent to pick up several sheets of music, but then stopped. _When should I tell her that she is safe? Should I do it now or wait for a better moment? I think I will do it at dinner tonight. Then she will be more surprised. Besides, she seems rather absorbed right now,_ he reflected, looking at the studious care with which she scratched her words onto the page.

They spent the rest of the day not speaking, just practicing their art. He played his excitement and satisfaction onto the page, notes pouring out of his fingers that fit perfectly together in a triumphant melody. Now and then he would pause the music to write it down.

She also poured out her emotions in a very different way. Her pen flew across the paper, and the stack of finished compositions grew and grew. She wrote her rape for the first time, with a single tear slipping down her cheek as she relived it. She wrote Erik, his warm arms around her to comfort her from her nightmares. She wrote her fear and his acceptance. She wrote her uncertainty for the future. Neither of them realized the time had gone by until their hunger was impossible to ignore.

They both stopped what they were doing and looked at each other.

"Dinner?" they both asked at the same time, and smiled at how well they knew the thoughts of the other.

They collaborated on dinner, and ate exchanging jokes and smiles. Finally, Erik sat straighter and said, "Angelique, I have some good news for you."

"What is it?" she asked, curious.

"You do not need to hide any longer for fear of Patrick."

She frowned. "Why? Has he left?"

"In a way. But one thing is for certain, he will not be coming back."

Confusion showed in her face. _How can Erik be sure of that? And how would he know…_ She noticed the smug expression on his face and understood. Her eyes widened.

"Erik. You didn't…"

His silence was the only answer she needed.

"Erik! How could you? How could you put yourself in danger like that? When I told you that Patrick had done it, I didn't even think to keep you from killing him. I thought you had changed now, I thought you were different. There was no reason really for you to kill him. I don't count. I'm afraid of him and angry at him, sure, but that doesn't mean I want him killed because of me!"

Erik was confused. "I thought you would be happy. You no longer need to be afraid and…"

"Nobody deserves to be killed for me. He was drunk and he was jealous, and I agree, he should have been punished, but not like that. I know you've killed before and I understand why you did what you did. But that doesn't make it right! And not only did you kill him, but you put yourself in danger in the process. You were already a wanted man. What if the managers find out and set the police on you? If they found you, they probably wouldn't even bother with a trial! They would just kill you where you stood and excuse it because they thought you were too dangerous to be allowed to live. Don't you understand what the consequences are? You can't just do things like that and expect no reprisals. Think for a moment, like the genius you are, and don't think that you're doing any favors by killing for me."

She pushed back her chair and stormed out before Erik could reply.

"I was just trying to help you!" he shouted after her. "At least I had good intentions. Forgive me if I did not aid you the right way!" He made his way over to his organ and put his head in his hands.

"I did not mean to hurt you," he whispered miserably. "And now you will never come back." This was the day he had been dreading, when she would finally walk away from him because she saw how awful he truly was. Tears began to slip down his cheeks, and he felt his loneliness and depression creep in on him again. _I messed it up by killing someone, just like I did with Christine. I am such a fool. Why can I not learn from my mistakes?_ He sat there for a long while, hunched over, feeling black depression settle on him like a blanket. Then, before he could wrap it around him and give in to the pain, he heard the pad of footsteps behind him. He turned his head quickly and his eyes went as wide as they could go when he saw Alison standing there behind him.

"Alison?"

"Erik." Her eyes were full of trepidation and apology.

"You…you came back," he whispered.

"Of course I came back! I love you. Even when I am upset. No matter what happens, I promise that I will always find my way back to you. This is an awful time to say this, but I can't live without you."

He smiled a little, hardly letting himself dare to hope that she had not abandoned him like so many others did.

Her face had been tender, but now it became serious. "I've been thinking a lot about it all. And thank you. Thank you for making sure that he won't come back. My mind rests easier, but at the same time I wish you hadn't killed him. I shouldn't have yelled at you the way I did. I know that you were only trying to help me and I appreciate that more than I can tell you. Can you forgive me?"

He seemed surprised that she would even ask. "Of course. But it is I who should be begging you for forgiveness. I did not think of the situation from your side, and I know that you would have no desire to have someone killed for you."

"Then let's forgive each other," she said with a smile.

"That sounds like the most wonderful thing in the world."

He took her into his arms, gently, slowly, and tenderly kissed her. Her hands went softly to his cheeks, one perfect, one damaged, and caressed them both as she kissed him back.

They broke the kiss languidly and smiled at each other.

"I do have one request, though," Alison told him.

"Anything."

"I want you to promise me that you will stop the killing. Whether it's in revenge, or because someone's in your way, I don't care. But I don't want you killing anyone, both because it hurts you and it hurts them. Will you promise me that?"

He hesitated. "What if I am attacked? Am I allowed to defend myself?"

"Of course. Just don't go and pick fights."

He nodded and sat up straighter, solemnly. "Angelique Taylor, I swear to you, by music and my love for you, that I will not kill another human being unless in self-defense. I swear that I will never break my promise so long as I am living."

She was slightly awed by the solemnity of it all, but nodded. "Thank you," she said softly.

"Anything to keep you here with me," Erik responded tenderly.

They shared a kiss, to seal the bargain. Erik held her close in his arms. He had never believed in God before this moment, but now he felt that he did._Thank you, if you exist. Thank you for sending me this wonderful woman. Thank you for letting her forgive my faults and love me even though I am flawed in ways that she will never be. I am everlastingly grateful that she is in my life._

_But please, let her stay forever._

**Reviews are love and make my day.**


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-Four

Alison slowly began to heal after Patrick's death, mostly thanks to Erik's tender attention and love. Her nightmares occurred less and less and finally she was able to go back to the ballet dormitories with no trouble. She was more and more grateful for what Erik had done to Patrick. Even though she knew that it was wrong, she didn't have to be looking over her shoulder all the time or spend the rest of her life scared of him. She knew without a doubt that he was gone.

She resumed dancing with the opera house and everyone was glad to have her back. Erik would come to practice sometimes, but he would stay where only she could see him or sneak up behind her backstage for a kiss. Her life settled into a quiet rhythm for a month until one day, everything was shattered.

It had been exactly three years since she had arrived at the Opera Populaire. Even now Alison could hardly believe what had happened to her, if she thought about it. She danced with the premier opera house in Paris and was 'going out with' (for lack of a better word) Erik himself. Her life seemed almost too good to be true. She was sure of one thing: that she didn't want to go home.

That day, she ran up to her dormitory in the middle of rehearsal because she had forgotten one of her ballet slippers in her rush to leave in the morning. She grabbed the missing shoe and turned to run out the door, but then stopped when she saw something strange on her bed. Picking it up, her eyes flew wide as she realized what it was.

It was a modern color photograph of her dormitory in college, exactly as it had been when she left it. A wave of homesickness swept over her along with a nostalgic fondness for college. But she was still firm that she didn't want to go home. She went to place the photograph on the bed again, but found that she couldn't move it.

The sight of her fingers sinking into the photograph hit her like a bullet, tearing through her chest with the sinking knowledge of what was going to happen to her.

Her mind went blank with fear. _No, no, no, no, no! I don't want to go home! Just let me be!_ She struggled and pulled, trying to get her fingers out of the photograph and stay in Paris. But it was no good. Her hand continued its inexorable progress, sinking into the photo, pulling her back to her old home, her old life: the present day.

"No!" she screamed. "Erik! Erik, help me!"

Erik heard her screams from inside the passageways in the walls. Fear shot through him and his mind began imagining all kinds of awful scenarios, but none as awful as the truth. He rushed towards the sound of the screams and arrived in the dormitory. He saw Alison and ran to her. "Angelique, what is wrong?"

And then he saw. Saw her arm being sucked into the picture and remembered what she had told him about how she arrived. "No…"

She looked at him, tears starting in her eyes as her arm started to move faster, pulling her into the picture more quickly. "Erik…I love you…"

Erik grabbed wildly at her, trying to stop her, to save her, but it was too late. Their eyes met one last time. Then her entire body was inside and the picture fluttered to the floor.

Erik stood alone in an empty room that had once contained the love of his life.

And Alison tumbled to the floor in her room in college.

For a moment, she didn't move. She lay curled up on the floor, eyes tightly shut. She had a childish impulse that if she didn't move, didn't open her eyes, then maybe it wouldn't be true. Maybe she wouldn't be in college. Maybe it would have never happened. But then the door swung open and her roommate Kylie ran into the room. She stopped when she saw Alison curled up on the floor.

"Alison? Oh my God, Alison! You're back! Where have you been for the last eighteen days?"

Alison pushed herself to her knees, staring at Kylie. There was a terrified, lost look in her eyes.

"_No,_" she whispered. "_I'm not back, I can't be back, there's got to be some other explanation, this has to be a dream! I can't be back!"_

Kylie frowned. "What's going on, Alison? Why are you speaking random French? I mean, I know you're taking it in school, but still."

Alison jumped to her feet and began searching wildly around for a way out, another photograph, anything that would take her back to 19th century France, where she belonged. But there was nothing. No way out, no way back. Stuck in the present day once again.

"Since you're back, do you know where Patrick is? He disappeared eleven days ago. Was he with you? When is he coming back?"

Alison stopped and looked at Kylie for a moment. "He's not coming back."

Then she continued her search.

"What do you mean, 'he's not coming back'?"

"Figure it out for yourself," Alison spat at her.

She abruptly stopped searching, knowing that there was never going to be anything to find. She slid to the floor, pulling her knees to her chest and burying her face in her hands. Kylie sat next to her, looking concerned.

"Are you all right?"

She looked at Kylie. Kylie started from the haggard despair that shone out from her eyes.

"No, Kylie. I'm not all right. And I might never be all right again."

Erik sank to his knees on the floor of the dormitory, gently picking up the photograph. He stared into it intently, hoping that it would take him too, take him to the strange place where Alison lived. _Please, God, if you exist, take me to be with her. I cannot exist without her. Please. I beg you. I will go through the fires of hell itself to get to her. Just allow me to be with her._

He waited, hoping that someone had heard his desperate plea and would catapult him into the world of cars and strange screens and machines that talked. But nothing happened. He was left sitting on the floor, holding a photograph that wouldn't take him anywhere. Alone.

The reality of her absence swept through him. Now there would be no one to hold him and chase away his tears with laughter. No one to be his muse or to kiss him. No one to love him.

And with the reality of his loneliness, he began to cry, curling up on the floor as his shoulders shook with sobs.

**In Alison's world, when someone speaks French, it is in italics and English-speakers speak in normal text. In Erik's world, it's the other way around. Hope it's not too confusing. But what are Alison and Erik going to do now that they're apart? **


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five

Alison sat on the floor for a while, Kylie beside her, as she tried to take in the reality of what had happened. She stared at the walls around her, touching things and trying to reacclimatize herself to the present day. Kylie sat with her quietly, seeing from the look in Alison's eyes that no questions should be asked. After Alison had not moved for some time, Kylie helped her up and led her to the bathroom down the hall.

"Here. You look filthy. Have a nice, hot shower and maybe things will look a little better."

It was a clear sign of Alison's shock that she didn't argue. Kylie made sure that Alison was all right, and left, closing the door behind her. Alison shed her clothes dazedly, and stepped into the shower, closing the curtains. She stood there for a moment, looking detachedly at the dials and trying to dredge up in her mind exactly how they worked. "It's been too long," she murmured softly. Slowly she moved them around, letting her muscle memory guide her.

She let out a hiss as the hot water hit her skin. Her baths in the opera house had been few and far between, and showers were nonexistent. She grabbed her soap and washed herself, enjoying the feeling of getting thoroughly clean for the first time since she went to Paris. _Small compensation for everything I've lost_, she reflected bitterly.

She still had not felt the effects of the change yet. Her mind was having trouble comprehending her true state of things. She was numb, inside and out.

She turned off the water, dried herself, and padded down the hallway back to the room she shared with Kylie.

As soon as she walked in the door, Kylie asked her, "What classes do you have today?"

Alison frowned. "What?"

"Classes," Kylie repeated impatiently. "You know, sit in a classroom and learn things. Which ones do you have today?"

"I don't remember," said Alison softly. "It's been…I've forgotten."

Kylie rolled her eyes. "For God's sake, it's only been eighteen days! How in the world can you completely forget your schedule in that short amount of time?"

Alison looked at her, eyes harder than they had been a second before. "It only seemed like eighteen days to you."

"Sorry, what?" Kylie asked. "What did it seem like to you?"

"I'll find my schedule, all right?" She turned away. "_I've only been back here five seconds and already she's bossing me around again,"_ she muttered in French. "_This is ridiculous. I am twenty-two years old and I do not need to be treated like a little child."_

"What is with all this French? You're only in French I. You just started learning it this year."

"Yes, and?"  
"You've changed. What's happened to you?"

Alison closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Kylie, please go away."

Kylie was shocked. "I'm only asking reasonable questions. You've been back for a couple minutes and you're already acting completely different. I'm concerned for you and–"

"I know!" Alison shouted. "But I'm not answering your questions. It's none of your goddamn business."

Kylie reached out to her, aware that she had done something wrong. "Alison…"

"Stop asking questions. This is all completely overwhelming and I don't want to talk about it, okay?"

"But–"

"Just. Leave. Me. Alone." Alison sank down on the bed and put her head in her hands. Her eyes darted around furiously behind her eyelids, trying to think past the pain and shock that was sinking into her brain. It was like swimming in a sea of molasses. She glanced up and checked the date on the calendar.

_Okay,_ she thought, trying to focus. _Today I have that memoir theater class and I think that's at 2:15. Lots of writing but not too much homework, if I recall correctly._

"What time is it?"

"Oh, so now you're only talking to me because you want something," Kylie snapped, offended.

"What time is it?" Alison repeated impatiently.

"One-thirty."

Alison nodded sharply. _I've got enough time. It'll be okay. It'll all be fine. _An image of Erik's horrified face as she disappeared flashed across her mind. With an effort of will, she pushed it away. _Don't let yourself think about it until later. Keep your mind on the important things._

She got up, grabbed a random notebook and a pencil from her bed, and walked out of the room without saying anything to Kylie.

She wandered around campus, re-familiarizing herself with its layout. It had been three years, after all, and she had forgotten much of what she had learned about it. Everyone who saw her ran over to her and asked her where she'd been.

"In Paris," was her only response. There was no other answer she could give.

"Paris? Why Paris? And what was worth skipping school for?"

She shut their voices out and pushed past them impatiently. After getting lost a few times, she eventually made it to her classroom in the theater.

The teacher looked at her disapprovingly. "How nice of you to show up, Alison. Where have you been?"

"Paris," she answered dully. "I just got back." She took her seat silently and refused to say anything else.

She let her mind drift during class. It didn't seem important somehow. Fortunately, the teacher didn't call her out on it.

She was the first one out the door when class was over and she walked quickly back to her dorm in hopes of getting some peace to process everything that had happened. Unfortunately, she had no such luck.

When she pushed open the door to her room, Kylie's boyfriend Ethan was sitting on Alison's bed and laughing with Kylie. As Alison watched, he leaned in and kissed her. The whole scene sang with love and happiness, and it cut Alison to the quick. She stumbled backwards, knocking her leg on the doorframe with a soft thud.

Kylie and Ethan both looked at her, not understanding why she looked so horrified and sad.

"Alison, what…" Kylie began, but before she could finish, Alison ran out of the room. She barely managed to get into the bathroom before the tears hit. Images rushed into her mind like a fast-flowing river, and refused to stop.

_Erik at his organ, completely absorbed in the new piece that he was creating. Erik holding her after a nightmare. Erik smiling at her with the tender, unguarded grin that she had loved so much. His lips. His hands. His face, both marred and smooth, scarred but perfect. His fingers on her cheek, his touch setting her skin on fire. Their day on the rooftop. How it felt to truly hold him for the first time. _They felt so real that she turned around, almost expecting to see him there with her, but there was no one there.

Now that she was here, she knew that she would never see him again.

And she slid to the floor, crying harder. She wrapped her arms tightly around her abdomen, trying to keep herself whole while her heart broke into tiny pieces.

Alison fell into a dull routine. She went to class, didn't pay attention, and barely got through her homework. She spent most of her time sitting, staring at the wall in her room. Kylie grew more and more concerned about her each day. She had not asked Alison any questions since the first day, but was becoming curious. She waited impatiently for Alison to explain her strange behavior. After two weeks of silence, she could take it no longer. She barged in to their room after class and found Alison staring at the wall as she always did. Kylie grabbed her roughly and turned Alison's face so that she had to look her in the eyes.

"Alison, what is going on? Seriously, you're acting really weird. What happened during the time you were away? Were you kidnapped or something? And will you please explain what happened to Patrick? What did you mean when you said that he wasn't coming back?"

Alison tried to jerk her chin away, but Kylie's grip was too strong.

"Let go of me, Kylie," Alison said firmly.

"No," Kylie said, matching her tone. "Not until I get some answers."

Alison sighed. "Fine. I was in Paris and hung out at the Opera Populaire for a while. I was not kidnapped. And you want to know what happened to Patrick?"

"Yes, that would be nice. And I would think you'd be more concerned about your own boyfriend."

Alison froze and looked Kylie in the eyes, hostility in every line of her body. "Patrick is not my boyfriend."

"But I thought–" started Kylie.

"Not anymore." Alison's voice was cold and firm.

"Okay…"

"And he's dead."

"What?"  
"I said, he's dead."

"No, I heard you," said Kylie slowly, shocked by her response. "But how? He was perfectly fine before."

Alison sighed. "It wasn't an illness or anything like that. He was killed."

"Who did it?"

Alison pulled her chin away from Kylie's unresisting fingers. "You asked for answers, I gave them to you. I don't want to talk about it, okay?"

"I appreciate that, but you've just told me that someone's been murdered. We need to get the police involved. We need to go after the murderer. We need –"

She was cut off by Alison's laugh. She laughed harder and harder as Kylie kept talking.

"What is so funny? There's been a murder! Of someone you know and used to like. Why are you reacting this way?"

Alison managed to control herself. "Because the man who killed him is impossible to catch. Even in his own world. And neither you nor any of the policemen in this town, this state, this country, or even this world, would ever be able to find him. In this world, he doesn't exist."

"You're speaking gibberish."

"It makes sense if you know." Alison replied.

There was a moment of silence as Kylie tried to puzzle this out.

"Okay, so even if this man is 'impossible to catch' (which I seriously doubt), why would he kill Patrick? What did Patrick do to him?"

Alison's eyes flicked up to meet Kylie's. There was a dark expression in them that Kylie hadn't seen before. "He didn't kill Patrick because of something that Patrick did to him."

Kylie was confused. "Then why did he kill Patrick?"

Alison's lips tightened and she didn't say anything.

"He must be a really mean person, to kill someone with no reason. What is he? Some kind of serial killer?"

"No."

Kylie grew frustrated. "Then what is he? What kind of man would do that? The only thing I'm getting from what you're saying is that this 'uncatchable man' is a horrible person."

"He's not a horrible person!" The words exploded out of Alison's heart. "He actually had a reason for what he did. He doesn't kill people randomly. That's not how his mind works. He always has a reason that seems appropriate in his own mind. He is not a horrible person, or a terrible one…or a monster. He's a human being like all of us. Why is this so difficult?"

Kylie held up her hands. "Okay, okay, sorry. I don't entirely understand why you're defending a murder, but…"

"Do not judge me." Alison said sharply. "You are in absolutely no place that you can do that. You don't know the circumstances of the murder. You don't know anything about this at all and so you can't decide what happened based on the little that you understand. You have no right at all."

"Okay, but if I know the circumstances of the murder, how can I understand? Will you at least tell me why Patrick was killed, so that I don't go on believing whatever false thing you've accused me of?"

Alison didn't speak for a moment, processing this.

Then finally, she said softly, "He killed Patrick because of something that Patrick did to me."

"What? Why?"

"I don't want to talk about it. I gave you the answers you were looking for. Now just leave me alone."

"Just tell me why this mysterious murderer would care so much."

"Because he loves me."

Kylie's eyes went wide. "Sorry, what?"

"He loves me," Alison said simply. Then her eyes were softened with doubt. "Loves…loved…oh God." She covered her eyes with a hand.

"This killer was the man who loved you?"

"Yes."

"Then what was his name?"

"His name…His name was… His name was E-" Her lips formed the letters of his name, but she didn't speak them out loud. The name that had bounced around in the cavern of her mind, waiting to be said. But she couldn't say it. Didn't want to conjure him up unless he was truly there. She was silent for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice shook with unshed tears. "I told you, just leave me alone about it, alright?"

"Okay," said Kylie, shocked. She knew that it would be unwise to push Alison further, not when she looked so fragile and sad.

She didn't understand what Alison's problem was, but she was determined to find out.

**This was something of a transition chapter. Something major is going to happen in the next one, so stay tuned for that! Please review and make my day.**


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N I am so amazingly grateful for all of your positive reviews! I never expected the story to get this much, so thank you so, so much. Unfortunately Erik won't be coming back for a few chapters, just warning you. But we will see him again. Don't worry. On to the next chapter, hope you like it!**

Chapter Twenty-Six

It was Tuesday again. A month after Alison had come back to college, after her entire world had flipped upside down. A month of solitude and fear and fighting off the depression and loneliness that always hung like a cloud over her head. It felt so hopeless sometimes, as if it was not worth going on one day more without him. But she fought anyway, knowing that she couldn't get into that state. Because once she did, she might never get out. And that was the last thing she wanted.

She was going to all of her classes, and making a minimum of effort to do well. All except one.

She refused to even try in her French class. She tuned her mind out, trying not to deal with hearing French spoken all around her. It brought back too many memories. So she didn't speak, and she didn't raise her hand in class anymore. She didn't even make an effort to pick up her homework.

The sudden change had not gone unmissed by her teacher, Madame Pommier. Before she had left, Alison had been one of the hardest-working students in her class and had been progressing with the language very nicely. Madame Pommier realized quickly that her absence had something to do with it. She had tried to broach the subject with Alison after class the second week she had been back.

"Angelique," she had begun, calling Alison by her name in class. She couldn't say anything else before Alison had whipped around and looked at her.

"Don't call me that again. Ever again! I don't want to hear that name anymore."

"_Why?"_ she had asked in French, hoping to draw Alison back into the world of class and a language she had loved.

"_Because…"_ Alison had begun to respond and stopped herself, forcing herself to stay in English. "Because I just don't. Why is that difficult? Why is it so hard for everyone to understand that things have happened to me and I don't want to talk about them! Why can't you let me be?"

_"Because, as your teacher, I care about you,"_ Madame Pommier had responded calmly, still speaking French. _"You seem like you're going through something very difficult and maybe you need some help."_

"I don't need help!" Alison had shouted. "And stop speaking French or I will walk out of here and not respond."

She had turned away, breath coming fast. Then she let out a deep sigh and faced her teacher again.

"I'm sorry, Madame," she had said quietly. "There are some things that I just can't explain and don't want to talk about."

"All right. We don't have to speak French if that's what you want. But you're starting to seem like you're having a hard time. Are you okay?"

"Yes." She had stayed silent for a moment, then turned away.

She had walked quickly towards the door and stopped. Without looking back, she had said, "I just told you a lie. It's the same lie I've been telling everyone since I got back and there's no way to tell the truth without them being concerned about me. But you've always been nice and so I guess I can tell you. No."

"No, what?"

"No, I'm not okay. I haven't been okay ever since I got back and I don't think there's ever going to be a way to be properly 'okay' in every sense of the word. And maybe that sounds like depression and maybe it is, but I just…don't want to be analyzed or criticized for everything that I've done."

"I won't criticize you," Madame Pommier had said quietly. "You don't have to talk about anything now. I just want you to know that if you need me, I'll always be there for you."

Alison had nodded and left without another word.

Madame had grown even more worried the more she watched Alison. She was a very perceptive woman and she was keeping a close eye on Alison, in and out of class. She began seeing Alison's discomforts: she seemed to be having frequent headaches and back pain. Alison seemed to be so much more tired than she had been. Her eyes gained a more and more defeated look with every class that went by. Madame was still waiting, hoping that Alison would finally come and talk to her.

And one day, a month after she had returned from her sojourn, she did.

She approached Madame after class, hesitantly and carefully.

"Madame," she began, "you said that if I wanted to talk to you, I could. Would now be a bad time?"

Madame Pommier rose fluidly from her desk. "No, of course not. Would you like to go to my office?"

Alison nodded and followed Madame out of the classroom to a smaller room nearby with a desk and two chairs. Madame Pommier sat at the desk and gestured at one of the chairs.

"Sit, please."

Alison complied.

"So start from the beginning. What happened?"

Alison sighed. "I'm not here to spill to you what happened. That I'm not going to tell you. And I'm sure that you're dying to know, aren't you? You and everyone else. But the things that happened to me in what everyone considers to be eighteen days are not–"

"What everyone considers to be?" Madame asked sharply.

"Yes," said Alison curtly. "It wasn't eighteen days for me. But I'm not going to tell you any more than that. Everyone is trying to get me to talk about it. Either to satisfy their own curiosity, or because 'talking it out will make you feel better about it'," she put on a mock baby voice, "and the thing is that it won't. In fact it'll make it all worse because if I talk about it, I'll relive it, and it'll be that much more painful. And you know the real problem with all of this? If I told anyone what happened to me, they'd think I would be lying to them. They wouldn't believe me because it sounds so crazy. They'd probably put me in a goddamn psychiatric hospital for delusions or something and I don't want that." Alison pressed the heels of her hands to her cheekbones, covering her eyes.

"Is it really so crazy that you won't even talk about it to me? I wouldn't think that you're crazy."

"Yes, maybe you wouldn't, but it's not about that. I'm here because I need to talk about how I feel, not what happened. If you're going to press me for what happened, I'll go."

Madame Pommier held up her hands in a gesture of surrender. "Okay. If that's not something you want to talk about, that's fine."

"Thank you."

She sighed, and then looked straight at Madame Pommier, and Madame was shocked to see the depth of feeling in Alison's eyes.

"You know the thing I hate most of all? When people keep asking me about Patrick. I don't know if you remember, but he was my ex-boyfriend," she said, putting special emphasis on the _ex_. "They keep asking me where he's gone, when he's coming back. And I can't tell them where he's gone because it would be a whole uproar and everything. A lot of people liked him, and he had lots of friends. If you ask me, I don't understand why. It obviously wasn't his sweet disposition," she said sarcastically.

"Wasn't it?" Madame asked. "He seemed like a nice boy to me. Always came to pick you up after class and he seemed very solicitous of you."

Alison made a face. "Then it just goes to show, doesn't it? How much people can change."

"That's not how you know him?"

Alison laughed, a short, bitter laugh. "Once, maybe. But now…no. In my memory, he is anything but a nice boy. But most people haven't seen the side of him that I have. At least, I hope not. I can't tell people what I know about what happened to him. I just lie and tell them I don't know. I'm not going to tell you what happened to him either, in case you were going to ask," she said sharply, noticing the curiosity in Madame's eyes.

"Not only do I now have to deal with that, there's the simple reality of everything I've lost by coming back here."

"Lost? What exactly have you lost?"

"Everything."

"Surely you're being a little–"

"No."

Madame was surprised. "Okay. Can you be a little more specific?"

"I've lost the life I had built for myself in the time that was so much longer than eighteen days. I lost the friends, the place, the work, and something so much more important. I lost love.

"Have you ever moved from one place to another knowing that you're never going to see the first place again? You're not even going to be able to visit, you will never see anyone from there ever again. Has that happened to you?"

"Not exactly like that, no," Madame admitted.

"Exactly. The wonders of modern technology prevent that from ever happening. So since you don't know what that's like, I'll tell you. It feels like dying. Moving to a new place hurts enough, as I'm sure you know, but you still have some contact with that world. I don't. I have no means of contacting any of the people from where I was because they are…let us say beyond the reach of cell phones and computers. I'm never going to see any of these people again and you have no clue how much that hurts." She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying desperately not to cry. She had done too much crying in the past month.

"And, on top of everything else, I feel absolutely awful."

"Are you getting headaches, feeling tired, things like that? That's what I've been noticing from you."

Alison nodded. "And my body is just starting to feel very strange, like it's…almost... I don't know how to describe it. And when I first got back, I would keep throwing up in the mornings. I'm not sick, and I thought it was just a product of everything that's happened. It's sort of stopped, but I still feel a little nauseous."

Madame Pommier frowned. "Throwing up in the mornings? Like…morning sickness?"

"I guess you could call it that," Alison said, not realizing what Madame Pommier was implying.

Madame bit her lip, then asked delicately, "Have you been sexually active in the past couple months?"

Alison looked at her, frowning. "I don't really see how that's relevant."

"It could be. I'm not asking for my own curiosity, I promise. But it might be important to you."

"I still don't understand why, but yes. Once. The other time doesn't count as sexually active." _Erik's hands on her body, skimming down her curves, kissing her deeply and never seeming to stop. That was being sexually active. Not Patrick, grabbing her arms so hard they left bruises and shoving her to the floor._

"And…when was the last time you had your period?"

Alison frowned. "You know, I don't really remember. The last three months have been somewhat…hectic for me. I had my mind on other things." Then she realized. "But I don't think I've had it for the past three months: ever since…" _No. That's not possible. It was just once. Something like that doesn't happen after one time, does it?_ "You think I'm…"

"I think it's a possibility. Neither of us can jump to conclusions, so it might be better to test it."

"May I go do that right now? I can't…I won't be able to wait."

"Of course, Alison. And if you need any help, as I said, you can come to me."

Alison nodded and quickly exited the room.

She ran all the way to the nearby CVS, bought a pregnancy test, then ran back to her dorm as fast as she could. She followed the instructions that came with it and waited in the communal bathroom, pacing back and forth.

_If there really is a baby, it could be Erik's child. Can you image that? A little Erik. Maybe he would be a musical genius just like his father. Wouldn't that be lovely? But it'll probably be nothing, we're all probably just being paranoid._

Her mind was spinning in circles trying to work out all the possibilities, when suddenly the little display on the test changed.

She looked down at the little plus sign.

It felt so unreal, she had to say it out loud to be sure that it was true.

"I'm pregnant."

**Please review!**


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Still reeling with the shock of it, she slowly walked back to her dormitory, leaving the test in her little cubbyhole in the bathroom. She sat down at her computer and opened her email, typed out a few words, and hit send.

Madame Pommier was just checking her email when an email popped up in her inbox.

To: Michéle Pommier

From: Alison Taylor

Re: conversation

**You were right.**

Her eyes widened, even though she had been expecting that answer. It was one thing to speculate about being pregnant and quite another to actually hear that it was true.

**What are you going to do?** She typed back.

The answer came quickly: **I don't know. See a doctor, I suppose.**

**Are you thinking about an abortion?**

**NEVER.**

Madame Pommier was slightly shocked by Alison's vehemence. She typed hesitantly: **Are you very anti-abortion?**

**No.**

**Then why not get one? It might be the smartest thing to do. Think practically. You are in college: you cannot support a child. You should do it quickly before the fetus gets too old. There will be a lot of paperwork involved.**

**I don't care. I'm not doing it.** "Not if there's a chance it might be Erik's," she whispered.

**All right, but I would just like to remind you that it's probably the better and safer option.**

Madame Pommier waited to hear Alison's reply, but the answer never came. Alison had closed her email and begun looking up obstetricians.

On the first visit, they were able to tell her that her child would be a boy.

After she had told her friends, the news spread through the school like wildfire. All of the people with an active sex life kept going up to her and apologizing. "I'm sorry that this happened. Did the condom break? Are you getting an abortion?" She answered both questions with a short "No" and moved on.

Some of the others scolded her. "You really should have been more careful. Was birth control that hard?" They lectured her about the practical issues with having a child in college. She just brushed them aside and kept walking.

Kylie was completely stunned. Alison had always been very practical and generally stayed away from sex. After Alison told her, she was silenced for a moment and then said, "Who's the daddy?"

Alison hesitated. "I don't know."

"What? How can you not know? How many people did you have sex with when you were away?"

Alison looked at her with irritation. "Technically, it was two, but I don't count the second one. And the timing of the birth won't help because they were both in the space of two days. Now again, you can't judge me. I'm not going to explain it fully to you. Suffice it to say that the second one… was against my will."

"You were…"

"I said, I'm not going to explain it. But maybe you might have a reason now to understand why I really hope that the father is the first one and not the second."

"Yeah, no kidding."

She dreaded the conversation with her parents, but knew that it had to happen at some point. She called them with trepidation to tell them the news.

Their response…was very different from the one she had expected.

"Oh, honey, that's wonderful! Do you know if it's a boy or a girl?" her mother asked enthusiastically.

"Um… it's a boy," she replied, a little disconcerted.

"Congratulations! Just make sure that he doesn't call me Grandma. I'm not ready to be called a grandmother yet. It makes me feel old."

"Why are you congratulating me? I thought you were going to be mad at me."

"No. You sound happy about it. You were nervous about telling us, but it makes you happy, I can hear it in your voice. It'll be a lot of work, we all know that, but you're responsible and reliable. You'll make it work."

Everyone close to Alison noticed immediately the change in her behavior following the news that she was pregnant. Before, she had seemed sad and depressed, not wanting to communicate with the world. Everyone had expected her pregnancy to make it worse, but it had the opposite effect. She became much more cheerful and happy. She threw herself back into her schoolwork and her grades went up. She spent more time talking with her friends and began to laugh again.

She also played a lot of music for the child. Since she had spent so much time with Erik and worked in the opera house, she had gotten used to the presence of music all around her as she went about her day. So she replicated it, playing classical music from her computer as she did her homework and all kinds of other music as she went through everyday life. She sang along with a good deal of it, unconsciously acclimating the baby to her voice.

She was surprised how quickly her son had become a large part of her thoughts. She imagined what he might look like all the time, giving him some of Erik's features mixed with her own.

She kept her mind focused on the idea that the child was Erik's. She reassured herself in all kinds of irrational ways that it might be his. The truth was that she was terrified that it might be Patrick's. _How could I love a child of rape? How could I care for him and look at him every day, knowing the circumstances under which he was conceived? How could I ever do that? Please, let me not have to. Let it be Erik's child and then all of it will be okay._

She had been holding on to the idea of Erik's child, using it as her lifeline. It gave her a reason to live, to function, to do well. Without it, she was sure that she would have lost her fight and slipped into depression. The child was her last link to Erik, to the life she had known and loved.

She talked to him, just randomly. She always spoke French to him, telling him about everything that happened to her: her hopes, her dreams, even what went on in her regular day. She talked to him about Erik quite a lot, wanting him to at least know the idea of his father, even though she knew that her son would never get to meet him.

In her happiness, she was still very afraid. The future scared her. What was she going to do with a child? She had decided to take a semester off when the baby was born to take care of him, and then return to college. She knew she had to finish college, if for no other reason than to give her baby the life he deserved.

As the baby grew bigger, so did her belly. She began to feel self-conscious and awkward. None of her clothes fit her anymore and she began trying to avoid looking in mirrors. She snapped at people randomly and other times, cried for no reason at all. When she asked the obstetrician about it on one of her visits, his answer was illuminating, if not helpful in controlling them. "Hormones."

Far more quickly than she was expecting, it was the end of the year. Summer sun shone down on everyone walking around campus. All of the students were waiting impatiently for the school to end and for summer to arrive. Alison was nine months gone and felt like an elephant. She had to go to the bathroom all the time and felt fidgety. When was her baby going to come?

She still dreamed of Erik all the time. Her mind remembered every last detail and recreated it in her mind, tantalizing her with what she could never have. She saw his face in her head all the time, particularly his beautiful, mismatched, blue-and-green eyes. She had loved his eyes. Every small thing about him haunted her memory. She even caught herself humming his music. She still loved him, in spite of the distance, in spite of the fact that she would most likely never see him again.

Two days before school ended, she fell asleep dreaming of his eyes.

When she woke up, the contractions began.

**I know I ask this every chapter, but please review! You can't imagine how helpful feedback is to me.**


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter Twenty-Eight

She is rushed to the hospital by the girl who lived next door, whose parents had lent her a car. Everything is chaos and screaming and _pain_. She is admitted and laid down on a hospital bed, surrounded by machines and doctors. She is still tired and she can't focus at all. The only thing she can think of was the pain and the squeezing and _Oh God, the baby's coming. Whose will it be?_

Her thoughts are interrupted by one of the doctors.

"Is there anyone you need us to call? Anyone you want informed as to your state?"

"Madame…Pommier…" her voice comes out in short, hard breaths.

"Not the father?"

She turns and looks at the doctor. Her eyes are deep and angry and hurt. "No."

And that is the end of that.

It goes on for hours and hours. There is no real sense of time here, just poking and prodding and pushing and pain. And so her mind wanders.

She imagines Erik, with his white mask and black cloak, sitting in the waiting room of the hospital. In her mind's eye, she sees him tapping his fingers in impatience and worry. He gets up and paces around, stalking to and fro and making everyone nervous. A small smile comes to her lips at the thought.

But another contraction comes and he is pushed out of her mind. It makes her more aware than ever before that he is not here, and his absence tears a hole in her heart again.

_Why can't you come back to me? If not at any other time, I need you here. I'm strong, I know I'm strong, but I can't do this without you. It has to be your child. Please,_ and her thoughts have a desperate tone she had never had before, _please come back._

But the waiting room remains empty of Erik and the only person who comes to visit her was Madame Pommier, who sits in the waiting room even though she has classes to teach. Alison hears and is grateful, as much as she can think through pushing and stretching.

_Erik is there, sitting by her bedside, holding her hand, then driven away by her screams of pain. Flitting in and out of her room like a shadow, and the doctors never see him. They never see anything. Nobody seems to understand: no one, no one. She imagines that they saw hundreds of girls like her in a year, college kids with no father for the baby. But how could she explain that the father was dead? _

_One way or another, he would be dead. Even if it was Erik (_oh god pleasepleaseplease let it be Erik I can't love a baby that's Patrick's) _he's gone. Long gone. Unless anyone can live for two hundred years. _

Thoughts shattered, splintered. Contractions, pain. So it goes, over and over and over again.

_Too long. Is it taking too long? It's not like she's had a baby before and she's nervous, so nervous. How can a college kid take care of a baby on top of homework? But she can't give him away, not when he could be Erik's. It all comes back to this, doesn't it? Patrick versus Erik. But in her mind it's never a choice. _

_Strange things that she thinks about when she's having a baby. Although she supposes it's only right. Why can't her mind function properly? If nothing else, after this she won't be fat anymore, although there will be marks._

Now Alison has to push, trying as best she could to bring her baby into the world. _Erik's, Patrick's. It doesn't really matter now, does it? Seven billion people in the world, and all Alison has to do was bring in one more._

_Fear, now there's so much fear. What if there's a problem? What if the baby dies? What if she dies? For the first time, she is inordinately glad that she did not stay in Erik's world for this. It would have been messy and scary and there would have been so much more of a chance of dying. And she hadn't gotten this far just to die now._

The doctors whisper encouragement. "This is it, it's almost there, come on, you can do it…" Their voices fade together in her mind.

One final push-

Then-

Silence.

Everyone waits with bated breath for the baby's cry. _Oh god please let it not be dead-_

A soft, musical coo fills the air. Less abrasive than a normal baby's cry. The doctors look surprised but it is a cry after all. It does the crucial job of making the baby breathe, so it doesn't really matter what it sounds like.

She keeps her ears open, desperate for any bit of information, and receives some. "It's a boy!"

Madame Pommier comes in to congratulate her, wiping the sweat off her brow and combing her tangled hair with her fingers.

"Wonderful job, Alison," she says, voice tender and affectionate. They had gotten closer during the pregnancy, even though Alison didn't take French anymore. She couldn't. It just hurt too much. But it's okay. Madame Pommier doesn't get it, but she understands.

Doctors rushing around, doing tests, making sure that the child is okay. Alison and Madame Pommier wait together.

In her nervousness, Alison is babbling. What she doesn't realize is that she's babbling in French. Madame Pommier, however, notices.

"_Oh God, what's going on? Where is my baby? I need to see my baby. Erik's baby. I get too fixated on things, I know, but I need to know. I need to hold him. They said it was a boy. I need a name! I couldn't even think of names before I knew what he looked like. It needs to fit him. Where is everyone? Who-"_

"_Alison. __Alison__."_ Madame's voice is concerned and shocked.

_"What?"_ Alison asks, stopping in mid-sentence, strangely giddy.

Madame starts to say something, hesitates, then: "_You're speaking French. I thought you didn't like the language."_

Alison closes her eyes. It all comes flooding back in those two sentences. No father for her baby. No lover for herself. No life. No dancing. No Paris. Of course.

Uncomfortable and pained, she shifts back to English. "Yes, well, doesn't mean that I don't know it." She turns her face away and says nothing more about it. But she is still trapped in the glow of motherhood, waiting to see her baby.

The doctor comes over to her and stands beside the bed. _Why is she walking so slowly? Is there a problem? What's going on?_

"Congratulations," the nameless doctor says softly. "He's beautiful."

And she places the baby in Alison's arms.

Even after all of this waiting, she is nervous. What if there's a problem? What if it's Patrick's? What if…what if…

There's no point in doing this waiting. So her eyes float down to look at her baby and gasps.

On the beautiful, unmarred face of the baby, she sees Erik's eyes.


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter Twenty-Nine

_Two years and three months later._

There was a small street in a small suburb of Philadelphia. It went for just two blocks and then a dead end. Trees lined the road, growing thicker at the end. There was not a soul to be seen on that street. Everything was quiet.

Then a man appeared out of nowhere, seeming to fall from the sky. He hit the paved street with a loud thud and lay unmoving for a moment in a heap of black clothes. Eventually, he slowly pushed himself to his feet, wincing with the pain of his impact. He raised his head, took a look around him, and his eyes went wide. His head turned this way and that, taking in the strange things he saw, things so unlike the place he had just come from. Confusion was clear in his eyes.

He bent down to touch the street beneath him with wonder and a little hesitance. It all seemed new and strange to him. What was this place? And more importantly, why was he here?

As he turned around, searching for some kind of answer, he noticed the house he had been dropped in front of. There was a white picket fence, with a long driveway and a large yard. At the end of the driveway was a tall, rectangular stone house. He frowned at it. Then he froze in apparent recognition. He scrabbled for his pockets and came up with a wrinkled color photograph. He looked at the photograph, then at the house. They were exactly the same.

He touched the photograph tenderly, with sadness in his fingers. Then he looked up at the house again, with the expression of a man daring to hope.

His eyes flicked back and forth, considering. He stood in front of the house a long time, debating with himself. Finally, he took a deep breath and his posture changed to firm resolve. His step was confident with a little wobble of fear in it as he began to walk up the driveway towards the house.

Alison was sitting in her room at home, staring at the wall. She found herself doing that more and more often as the years went by. On summer vacation, there was no work to be done, nothing to keep her attention for long periods of time, and so her mind went down black avenues.

_I have a good life, if you think about it objectively,_ she reflected. _I have a beautiful child who is all I could ever want in a little boy. I'm doing well in a very good school even though I have a baby. My parents are supportive and wonderful, and have been behind all my decisions when other parents probably would have disapproved. I have friends who care about me who have helped me through everything. I have so many blessings, honestly._

_But it's hard to tell my mind that when I come back to an empty bed that was filled once. Hard to tell my mind that when I see couples kissing and holding hands in the park. Hard to tell my mind that when I go to the opera or the theater and imagine a man hanging from the rafters. I miss Erik. More than is maybe normal after almost three years._

_It's interesting how time flies, isn't it? I've spent about the same time away from him as I spent with him. And now…now I can barely even remember his face. _She closed her eyes and tried to call it to mind, the way she used to. Before, there had been a clear Technicolor picture. Now…nothing.

A tear slipped down her cheek. _How has it come to this? Three years ago I had as happy a life as anyone could have. I had everything I wanted: a job that I loved, friends, and a man that I gave my heart to. The only remnant of that life I have now is my son. And I love him, but it isn't the same. I need to feel Erik's arms around me, holding me and telling me that everything is going to be all right. But it's not. I know it's not. I'll have a life outside of college and get a job. I'll have friends at work. I might even get married, but it won't be the same at all. Not even close. Because he's gone._

She leaned her head back on the wall and began to sing softly.

"Without you, the ground thaws

The rain falls

The grass grows

Without you, the seeds root

The flowers bloom

The children play

The stars gleam, the poets dream

The eagles fly, without you

The earth turns, the sun burns

But I die without you

Without you, the breeze warms

The girl smiles

The cloud moves

Without you, the tides change

The boys run

The oceans crash

The crowds roar, the days soar

The babies cry, without you

The moon glows, the river flows

But I die without you

The world revives, colors renew

But I know blue, only blue

Lonely blue, within me blue

Without you

Without you, the hand gropes

The ear hears

The pulse beats

Without you, the eyes gaze

The legs walk

The lungs breathe

The mind churns, the heart years

The tears dry, without you

Life goes on, but I'm gone

'Cause I die without you

Without you

Without you

Without you."

She buried her face in her hands and began to sob softly, shoulders shaking. She had learned to keep it contained, to cry when no one else could see her, and to leave no sign of tears behind. The pain of emptiness tried to pull her into true tears. With an effort of will, she pushed it back. Her tears dried and she began to stare at the wall again.

The man stood at the door of the house in the photograph. His heart was beating quickly. He was more nervous that he had ever been in his life. What if he was wrong? What if this was not the place he thought it was? And if it was, what if he was not welcome there?

All of this questioning was useless. He raised his hand, knocked on the black door and waited.

He heard the twist of a key in a lock and the door swung open from the inside. A middle-aged woman stood behind the door. The man stared. What were those clothes she was wearing? Why was she wearing pants like a man? And strange pants, too. Why did they only go to the knees? And her whole arm was bare! What kind of clothes were these for a respectable woman to wear?

"Hello, I'm sorry it took so long. We don't usually use this door; we use the one at the back." At her voice, he snapped back to his purpose.

"Hello," he said hesitantly, in slightly French-accented English. "I am looking for an Angelique Taylor. Does she live in this house?"

The woman frowned. "There are Taylors in this house, but no Angelique, sorry. You must have the wrong house." She began to close the door.

A flash of memory hit him. Of course. "Wait!"

She opened the door slowly again. "What?"

"Alison Taylor. Not Angelique here. Alison."

"Yes, there is an Alison Taylor here. My daughter."

The man breathed a sigh of relief. "May I see her, please?"

The woman looked at him suspiciously. "Have you met before?"

"Yes."

She paused for a moment, considering. "All right, come in and I'll get her."

He smiled. "Thank you."

He stepped inside the house and looked around. A straight staircase hugged the left wall of the room he was in. At his left, there was a doorway, leading into a room he couldn't see. To his right, there was a small room with fancy furniture, like a parlor.

"Stay here. I'll bring her down."

The woman disappeared up the stairs and the man began to pace, his fingers drumming nervously.

There was a knock on Alison's door. "Alison?" her mother asked.

"What is it, Mom?"

"There's a man here to see you. I don't know who he is, but apparently he knows you."

Alison sighed. "I don't want to see people today."

"One of those days?" Her mother's voice was understanding and held a trace of pity.

"Yes."

"You don't have to talk to him for very long if you don't want to. But I did promise that I would get you."

"I'm not even decent! I'm still in my pajamas."

"Can you get changed quickly and come down?"

Alison pressed her lips together in annoyance. "Fine."

Her mother's footsteps faded as she walked back down the front stairs.

Alison jumped up and threw on her favorite short-sleeved shirt and a pair of jean shorts. She brushed her hair with quick strokes, opened the door, and walked to the stairs.

The man heard the echo of soft footsteps from above him. He looked up, tension in every line of his body. His heart was beating painfully in his chest. Then _she_ appeared at the top of the stairs.

She was thinner than he remembered. She was wearing even more showy clothes than this woman who was most likely her mother. His eyes lingered on skin for a moment then turned to her face. Everything was almost the same as he remembered and he drank in the little details: the way her hair swept over her shoulder, the curve of her cheek. Sadness had made its mark on that beautiful face, though. There were hollows of tiredness underneath her eyes, which were wide with shock and disbelief and the painful desire to hope.

Alison looked down at the man standing at the bottom of the stairs. He was wearing a black suit with a white shirt that barely peeked through. A long black cape swirled around his body. His fingers were stained and spotted with ink. He seemed to be about three or four inches taller than she was. His hair was black, shiny, and slightly off center, almost as if it were a wig. Her gaze travelled to his face. His eyes reflected total astonishment. His face was almost handsome, despite the residential grief in each shadow and line. Then her eyes stopped at the white mask that covered the right half of his face. _No,_ her mind scolded her. _This is absolutely impossible. There is no way that this could be…_

"_Erik?"_ she asked hesitantly, breathlessly.

_"Angelique."_

They stared at each other for a moment.

Then Alison took the stairs two at a time and flung herself into his arms.

**The song that Alison sings is from the musical Rent. Please review!**


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N Wow! Chapter thirty! I can't even believe that this little story has gotten this far. Again, thank you all so much for your support and reviews and favorites and follows. It means the world to me. **

Chapter Thirty

Erik staggered back with the weight of her for a moment, then regained his balance and held her tightly to him. He reveled in the feeling of her in his arms and the fact that he was able to hold her after so long. He pressed his face into the crown of her head and breathed in the scent of her hair: teatree and flowers and a little bit of something that was uniquely her.

Alison pressed her face into his coat, trying to get as close to him as she possibly could. Her mind still almost refused to believe that he was there in front of her with his arms around her. They held on tight to each other, rocking back and forth and whispering to each other in French.

_"Angelique."_

_"Oh God, Erik, you're here. I don't even know how you did it, but you are fantastic."_

_"I have been waiting so long to hear you say that. Words cannot express how much I missed you."_

_"I missed you too. So much. More than I can ever really explain."_

_"My life was so lonely without you, mon coeur. I needed you."_

_"I love you."_

_"I love you."_

Alison's mother shifted uncomfortably. She did not speak French and had no idea what either person was saying. "So…you two know each other then?" She had never heard Alison talk about a strange man in a white mask besides in her Phantom obsession. But that had ended three years ago. Why did Alison take one look at him and run to his arms? Why?

After a while, their death grip on each other eased a little and they pulled back to look at each other's faces. Erik was alarmed to see that Alison's eyes were bright with tears.

_"Angelique, please do not cry!"_ he said in alarm. _"Whatever I have done, I…"_

She put a finger gently to his lips, sending tiny shivers through his body. _"Erik, I'm crying because I'm _happy_, not because I'm sad. I never thought that I would see you again in this lifetime. I…I needed you as much as you needed me and I missed you. I learned very quickly after I got back that it was harder to find things worth living for…without you."_ She removed her finger from his lips and slid her palm up to his cheek. Her other palm joined it, smoothing over the surface of the mask. He covered the hand over the mask with his.

_"And this still does not bother you?"_ he asked nervously._ "You have not realized that there are other, whole men out there who could possibly be better for you?"_

She shook her head, smiling in the midst of the tears that had begun to slip down her cheeks. _"Never. You are, and always will be, everything that I need."_

Even after all this time, she still felt as she used to. He had grown accustomed to the jeers of "freak" and "monster" in her absence, and begun to believe again that he deserved them. But she loved him. She still loved him. A wave of love swept over him and in one motion, he lowered his hands to her waist and pulled her to him roughly for a passionate kiss.

Their kiss spoke of love and desperation and the need to be together after so much time. All of the loneliness and pain and tears of the last years melted away in that moment, in that kiss. They both knew that it might be a little awkward later. There were things that needed to be said and done and told. But until then, they could live in the moment, in love, just as they had been.

Erik's lips were soft against Alison's, counterbalancing the mask that dug a little into her lip. It hurt, but she couldn't bring herself to care about the pain. Because the mask meant that it was Erik kissing her. Her hands moved from his cheeks to tangle in the wig he wore, and she smiled for a moment against his lips because she remembered exactly how to do it without knocking the wig off. She pulled him closer and closer still, and his hands on her back tightened, drawing her into him.

Erik was in heaven. He hadn't kissed anyone since the day she left and he had forgotten how good it could feel. He wanted, no, he _needed_ to get as close to her as possible. He reveled in the feel of her kiss, of her hands in his hair, of her love.

Alison's mother _stared_. This man had walked in the door two minutes ago. Alison hadn't even wanted to see him and all of a sudden she was kissing him in the middle of the front hallway. She felt so awkward, standing there while her daughter kissed a complete stranger. She needed to understand the nature of this relationship, but she couldn't bring herself to tear them apart for even one second.

Finally, they broke apart and leaned their foreheads together, breathing hard and letting their breath mingle in the shared space between their lips. Erik took a breath to say something, but was interrupted.

"Will someone explain to me what's going on here?" Alison's mother's voice was full of confusion and a little anger.

They both turned and looked at her as if they had forgotten that she was there, which they had. Alison blushed and shifted a little awkwardly.

_"Erik, this is my mom, Sadie."_

Erik smiled, a little nervously, and nodded his head to her. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Madame."

Sadie just stared.

Alison tried again. "Mom, this is Erik. He…um…we were together freshman year. We–"

"Freshman year?" Sadie looked at Alison intently.

They both knew what she was really asking.

"Yes," replied Alison, answering both the spoken and unspoken question.

A smile appeared on Sadie's face for a moment, then it wavered. "If you were together freshman year, where have you been for the past three years?"

Erik turned to Alison in confusion. _"Three years? Where I am, it was five."_

_"Well here, it was three. I guess it doesn't mater all that much, does it?"_

_" The time difference is so strange here. You had been at the Opera Populaire for a year and Patrick,_" his lips curled with the name, _"said you had only been away for a week. How does this all work?"_

_"Please forgive me if I say that I've got no clue." _Alison smiled.

"Can you answer my question? I'm still trying to decide whether I should be angry with you or not for breaking my daughter's heart."

"Don't be, Mom." Alison said quietly. "None of it was his fault. It was just…circumstances out of our control."

Erik nodded in agreement. "Circumstances that I mourned over every day for the past years." He looked into Sadie's eyes, and she saw the truth of what he was saying.

Sadie smiled. "All right, then. But I imagine that it isn't comfortable just standing in the hall. Come into the living room and sit down with us!"

Alison loved her mother so much in that moment. She had taken everything in stride and tried to make Erik feel welcome. However, Alison had other plans.

"Um, Mom, Erik and I have some catching up to do that neither of us will probably want to do in the living room. Can we go up to my room instead? And I mean verbal catching up, so please don't get annoyed."

Sadie smiled understandingly. "Of course."

Alison grinned and took Erik's hand. She began to lead him up the stairs she had come down, when Sadie's voice stopped her.

"Just remember, they'll be back soon."

The grin grew a little less bright and her eyes flashed nervousness for a second. She nodded and kept going up the stairs, to a hallway, and into a door on the right wall. Erik walked after her, trying to take everything in. In the Opera Populaire, she had lived in his life. Now he would live in hers.

When they entered her room, Erik was momentarily shocked by all of the new things in it. There was a bed and a dresser, like a normal bedroom. But there was also a desk and a strange device sitting on top of it that seemed to glow. He let go of her hand, walked over to the desk, and peered at it.

_"Angelique, what is this?"_

She smiled in surprise. _"Well, I guess I have to teach you about my time too. That's called a… oh damn, I don't know the French word for it. In English, it's called a _computer._"_

"Computer," Erik repeated, trying it out.

_"Oh, and speaking of English, since when did you learn to speak it?"_ Alison asked curiously.

Erik looked at her with an expression she couldn't define. _"I learned it when you left in the hopes that one day, I would find my way back to you."_

_"Erik…"_ she whispered, leaning to kiss him tenderly. She didn't have to say anything else. That was enough.

She pulled away slowly and went and sat on the bed. She patted the place next to her and he obliged, sitting with her. There was a sense of unreality for them both. Alison could hardly believe that the man she had dreamed about for three years was sitting on her bed, in her room, right next to her. She still had trouble believing that he was really there.

They sat and looked at each other awkwardly for a moment. Alison dropped her gaze, trying to think of something to say. Then her mind hit on something.

_"I can't believe I didn't ask this before. How did you get here? I can't think of any way you would have been able to: it's not like you could get here the same way that I got to your world."_

In answer, Erik reached into his pocket and pulled out a battered white rectangle and handed it to her. Her eyes widened in surprise when she realized that it was a photograph of her house. She looked up at him, her eyes asking to explain.

_"I kept the photograph that you left my world from, hoping that you would come back through it, and that I would be there when you did. For five years, it stayed the same as when you had left. But today, it changed into this. And then it just pulled me in, the way you had left."_

Alison's eyebrows went up. _"Really? I had no idea it could work the other way. I tried everything to get back, but none of it worked. After a while…something happened that prevented me from being able to try."_

Erik frowned. _"What was it? What happened?"_

Alison's heart began to beat faster. This was it. She needed to tell him about her son, _their_ son. But how? And how would he react? Would he want the child? Would he not want it? She looked away from him.

_"I…gained another responsibility which meant that I needed to stay here, in this world."_ She took a deep breath.

He sensed her change in mood. _"Angelique? What's wrong?"_

_"Erik, there's something that I need to tell you."_

His heart stopped in his chest. _"What is it?"_

She sighed. _"I honestly don't know how to say this properly. It…I…I'm…"_

Suddenly, a child's voice rang out from the hallway. "Mommy?"

Erik looked up. _"Your little brother?"_ he inquired.

Alison shook her head.

They heard Sadie's voice speaking quietly, then light footsteps pattered up the stairs, with skips and beats and falling over.

The door was pushed open and a little boy stood at the doorway. He had wisps of blondish-brown curly hair on his head and large, curious eyes. A smile broke over his face when he saw Alison.

"Hi, Mommy!"

He toddled across the room and climbed up into Alison's lap. She smiled at him and put her arms around him.

"Hello, darling. How are you?"

She looked up hesitantly into Erik's hurt, accusing eyes.


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: Sorry this update is a little late: I had a choir concert yesterday and didn't have time to write the next chapter. But here it is. Hope it was worth the wait :)**

Chapter Thirty-One

Anger was building inside Erik, a quiet, white rage mixed with pain. It grew the more he looked at the child. Her child.

"Good," the boy said. The part of Erik that was a musician noted coldly the beauty of the toddler's voice.

Alison kissed him on the top of the head. "Would you mind going to play with Grandma for a minute? This man and I need to have a little talk, alone. Okay?"

The boy smiled at her. "Okay." He jumped off her lap and ran on short legs to the door. Alison got up and closed it behind him. She paused for a moment, gathering her strength, then turned to face Erik. He was holding the picture of her son from the bedside table. He turned it to face her.

"_This is what you wanted to tell me, is it not?"_

Alison sighed. _"Yes."_

_"So you were intending on confessing your betrayal."_

_"Betrayal?" _Alison asked, confused. _"I don't–"_

_"I waited for you, Angelique!"_ he yelled, getting up from the bed and crossing over to her._ "Five years I waited, longer than I had waited for Christine or for anyone else. I waited, hoping and praying that one day you would come back to me, wishing that wherever you were, you were waiting for me too. I lived on that thought alone."_

_"Erik–"_

_"You welcomed me with kisses and words of love: I thought that my fantasies had come true! I should have known that was too much to hope for with a monster like me."_

_"You shouldn't–"_

_"I hoped that I would find you faithful. Instead, you have not only betrayed me with another man, but had a son with him!"_

Alison's eyes widened. _"Wait, you think I–"_

_"Who was he, Angelique? Beautiful? Blonde-haired? Tall? Handsome? He must have been handsome. I should have expected no less from you or from any woman."_ He turned his head away in disgust.

They were both silent for a moment.

_"Could you really think so little of me?"_ Alison's voice reflected a deep hurt.

Erik turned back to her, confused. He had not received the answer he had expected. _"I–"_

_"No,"_ Alison stopped him. _"You ranted and raved at me for something I didn't do, now it's my turn. So shut up and listen."_

_"Something you did not–"_

_"Yes, something I didn't do. I waited for you too, Erik. Three years. Three years of everyone at college looking at me like I was crazy, or delicate. To them, I had been away for eighteen days. Not enough time to change a person's life, in their view. But after I got back, nothing seemed worth doing anymore, and do you know why? Because I had lost you!"_ Alison poked him in the chest. She was getting angrier with each word, and Erik was getting more confused.

_"Do you have any idea how hard it was for me not to slip into depression? I had lost an entire life by coming back here, left behind the only things that seemed to make it worth living. Do you think that didn't hurt me?"_

Erik was beginning to feel ashamed for his tirade at her. _"No, but–"_

_"And I never had any other boyfriends. It wasn't as if I wasn't asked. I turned them all down. Guys started asking me just because they knew I refused everyone: they wanted the thrill of the chase. And after I had the baby, there wasn't a point in asking me anyway."_

_"And I am sure that must have been a great loss to you,"_ snapped Erik bitterly.

_"It wasn't, actually. Do you know why I turned them all down? Because none of them compared to you. Ever. I would look at them and all I would see is 'His eyes are different from Erik's.' 'He's too short or not as tall.' You affected the way I looked at every single other guy after you."_

_"Then why–"_

_"That child is two years and three months old. He was conceived a little less than three years ago."_ She waited for comprehension from Erik, but only got a blank look in return. She sighed in exasperation and took the picture from Erik's hands, turning it to face him. _"Look at him. Really look at him. Look at his eyes. Do they remind you of anything?"_

Erik looked closely at the eyes of the child in the picture and froze. _"But…they look almost like…"_

_"Your eyes. Yes. That baby is _your_ son, Erik. Not some other random man's. Yours."_

Erik couldn't speak. He couldn't move. He just sat, staring at the picture and trying to make some sense of it all.

_"A son…"_ he breathed.

_"And he was all I had to hang on to, when I didn't have you."_

_"My son…"_

_"I had to make my life around him. He was my last connection to you. If he hadn't been there, God knows what you would have found when you came back. You might not have found me here at all, if it weren't for him."_

Erik slowly placed the picture back on the bedside table and turned to Alison. To her surprise, there were tears in his eyes. _"Thank you, Alison. Thank you."_ He took her in his arms and kissed her gently, and she felt her anger and hurt melting away at his awed and grateful touch. Then he pulled back to look at her. _"And I am so sorry that I did not listen. I assumed he was someone else's son because…because he is so beautiful."_ His eyes filled with tears. _"I believed that you had realized that I cannot give you anything but a scarred face and pain. Just as I hoped that you would wait for me, I feared that you had not."_

Alison cupped his unmasked cheek with her palm. _"I will always wait for you, Erik,"_ she said softly. _"No matter how long it takes."_

_"I never deserved you, Alison. Could never in a million lifetimes."_

A small, embarrassed smile appeared on her face. _"It was always me who didn't deserve you."_

They kissed a gentle kiss, full of love and gratitude. Then they pulled back, just looking at each other.

With one finger, Alison traced the lines of his face, rememorizing them all over again. She traced the curve of his jawbone and the lines of his lips, around his eye and down his cheek. Then her finger slowly went around the edges of the mask. As she went to pull it off, he caught her wrist.

_"Alison. Please,"_ he begged, not taking his eyes off hers.

_"I want to really see you, Erik,"_ she replied._ "I want to see the face that I've missed. All of it. What hides behind the mask is the thing that makes you you. I wouldn't change it if I could. Please let me see."_

Consternation showed in his eyes for a moment, but he released his grip on her wrist and lowered his hand.

She slowly removed the mask. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the expression on her face. She was reminded of the first time he had let her see his face. His nervousness, the closure of his eyes, his hesitance: those were all the same. She smiled, dropped the mask to the floor, and used her finger to trace the lines of the other side of his face. His eyes went wide at her touch. She traced every bump and scar, every imperfection, and loved them all equally. She devoted her attention to touching every bit of his deformity, and she watched him sigh and move closer to her hand.

For Erik, it was sweet torture. Her every touch to the sensitive skin of his face sent heat through his body, making him itch to hold her and touch her and kiss every inch of her skin. But no one had touched him gently in so long, he wanted to relax and enjoy it. Fortunately for him, it wasn't his choice to make.

Alison cupped his damaged cheek with her whole hand, making him stretch closer to her touch, and she kissed his lips.

_It's much better without the mask,_ both of them thought. He began to kiss her, deeper and deeper, holding her close to him. His hand slid under her shirt to touch her back, and they both gasped at the touch of skin on skin, for the first time in so long. Her arms went around his neck, pressing her body closer to his.

Their tender moment was interrupted by a loud, male shout from downstairs. "She did WHAT?" They jumped apart like guilty teenagers and Alison quickly adjusted her shirt as heavy steps came up the stairs.

_"That's my dad,"_ she whispered to Erik. They went and sat on the bed, trying to look as if they had been doing nothing more than talking. Erik grabbed his mask and barely managed to fit it on his face before the door banged open and Alison's father stepped into the room.

"Alison, who is this man?" he demanded.

"Dad, this is Erik. _Erik, this is my dad, Michael._"

Erik stood up, trying not to look as nervous as he felt. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

Michael raised his eyebrows and shook Erik's outstretched hand. "I don't think I've met you before. Where are you from? And how do you know Alison?"

"Dad, please don't interrogate him. He only just got here and–"

"I am from Paris," Erik interrupted. "Your daughter worked at my opera house for a time and that is how we met."

"You own an opera house?"

Erik shifted uncomfortably, feeling like a child again under Michael's gaze. "No, not exactly, but–"

"How long have you known each other?"

"Dad–"

"Six years," Erik replied. It was almost a question.

"If you've known each other for six years, how come I don't know who you are?"

Alison jumped in before Erik could answer. "It's complicated. There were circumstances that unfortunately separated us, so you don't know him."

"But if you were kissing him, obviously you care about him. So why don't you talk about him?"

"Dad, please. It's just complicated, okay?" The tone of Alison's voice stopped her father in his tracks for a moment. When he spoke to Erik again his voice was softer.

"I just need to be sure that you will take care of my daughter. I don't know you at all, so it's a question I have to ask. Because if you break her heart–"

"I will not," said Erik quickly. "That is the last thing on my mind, monsieur. I promise."

Michael saw the sincerity in his eyes and nodded.

At that moment, Sadie rushed into the room. "Is everything all right? Did my husband yell at you too much?"

Erik looked even more uncomfortable. Everyone was staring at him and he didn't like it. "No, madame. It is fine."

"Sadie, please. I was going to ask you: do you have somewhere to stay? Because if you don't, we can put you in the guest bedroom. It's a little cramped because of the piano but–"

"I would like that. Very much," Erik replied. Alison smiled as she saw his eyes light up at the word piano.

"Then come with me and I'll show you where it is." Sadie left the room and Erik followed her with one look back at Alison.

Alison leaned back against the wall. "Dad, would you mind going? I need a minute to process all of this. To be honest, I haven't seen him in almost three years and I never expected to see him again. It's not his fault," she said, forestalling Michael's questions. "But still, it's a little overwhelming."

Her father nodded. He kissed her on the forehead and left the room, closing the door behind him.

_Erik's in my house,_ Alison thought, her heart beating fast. _Erik is in my house. He kissed me and he still loves me and–_

Her excitement was cut off by a stray thought.

_Now I've got to teach him about technology._

**Please review!**


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter Thirty-Two

Erik followed Alison's mother up the stairs that were immediately to the left of Alison's bedroom. He felt just as overwhelmed as Alison was. _Not only am I in her time and at her house, but she still loves me and she's had a son that's mine who is so beautiful! This is more than I ever hoped for-_

He was shaken out of his thoughts at the sight of the room. It was about the same size as Alison's room, but there was a larger bed in the middle, a chest of drawers on one wall, and an upright piano, sitting by the window.

Erik forgot to thank Sadie. He just went to the piano and ran his fingers across the keys. _Resonant sound, decent quality. Not as good as my organ or even a grand piano, but good enough._

Sadie saw his absorption with the piano and smiled. _He wears a white mask, a black cloak, and he seems to love music. Just like the Phantom of the Opera. Of course Alison would get herself a boyfriend that was like the Phantom of the Opera._

"I'll just leave you alone then?"

He nodded distractedly as his fingers began to move across the keys in random swirls of creativity. Sadie waited a moment to hear the beautiful music, then pulled the door so that it was only open a crack and walked down the stairs back to her husband.

Alison heard the music through her floor and grinned. She had missed his playing. In his time, she had loved it when he played music for her. Now, hearing it again on the small upright in the guest bedroom, it drove home his presence in a way that nothing else had. And so she sat and listened.

After an hour, her son came to her room and pushed open her door. "Mommy, what's that?"

"The music?"

He nodded.

Alison smiled at him and picked him up. "That music is coming from a very special man. He's a genius at everything, but especially at music." She bounced him up and down in her arms. "You'll meet him properly soon, I promise. Because he'll someone very special to you."

His face crinkled up in childish annoyance at the prospect. He didn't like meeting new people. He stayed with her in her room for a while, both of them listening to the music. But he got too fidgety after a while, as little boys do, and went back downstairs to play with his grandparents.

Erik played until well into the afternoon. It was four o'clock until the music abruptly stopped in the middle of a note and Alison heard footsteps rushing down the stairs. Her door was banged open and Erik stood in the doorwell. _"Angelique, I am so sorry! I did not keep track of the time and lost myself in the music. How could I do that? I–"_

She crossed the room and put a finger to his lips. _"I needed a little time to process all this, as did you. It's new and different and exciting. I'm still getting used to the prospect that I might be able to spend a good deal of my life with you. I've spent three years believing that I would never see you again, so it's a pretty big change. It's okay."_

He sighed in relief and leaned in to kiss her softly. They stood in the doorwell for a moment, looking into each other's eyes. Then Erik asked tentatively, "_Can you show me some of the new things about this age? I have only been here for a short time and already I have seen many strange things."_

"_What did you see?"_ asked Alison curiously.

_"A road made out of strange black material, odd and inappropriate clothing, glass things hanging from the ceiling, and that contraption."_ He gestured to her laptop. _"What are any of these things for?"_

Alison led him to the bed and they sat on it, facing each other. She hesitated a moment, trying to work out what to say.

_"The clothing is not odd or inappropriate for this time. The boundaries of propriety have been widened a lot since your time. And what I'm wearing isn't even the limit, either. For summer, this is pretty tame. Showing arms and legs and things like that: all that is okay and socially acceptable now. Actually, if you dressed the way I used to here, everyone would look at you strangely and ask what your problem was. Speaking of that, we should probably get you some clothes that are period-appropriate. Not that a suit isn't, you just probably shouldn't wear one all the time."_

Erik looked down at himself. _"But the suit is what I wear. It shows class and pride. It is the attire of a gentleman."_

Alison sighed. _"In your time, maybe. And it still is, to some degree. It's just that there are very few people who wear a suit every day, especially during the summer. People really do dress for the weather here."_

Erik paused for a moment to process this. _"So the majority of people here dress inappropriately."_

_"No, because what we wear is entirely appropriate for this time. We're going to need you shopping. But I promise you, we'll try to find you something black at least."_ She smiled at him.

Erik sighed, resigned. _"So I am going to need to change my clothes to fit in. But what about these other things?"_

_"Well the 'strange' material for the road is necessary for cars."_

_"Cars?"_

_"Yes. They're….they're our methods of transport. Like a horse and carriage, just with a motor and no horses. People don't ride horses around anymore, but some people do ride for fun."_

_"What does this…car…look like?"_

_"Hold on, let me show you."_ She turned to her computer and pulled up a search window. Erik stared over her shoulder, enthralled.

_"What is that?"_

_"This is a computer, like I told you before. There is a thing called the Internet that has a lot of things on it. I can't think of an equivalent in your day. The Internet has a good bit of all the information in the world. There are different websites that do different things."_

_"What's a website?"_

Alison sighed, frustrated at her inability to explain the things she had known all her life. She pointed to the window she had up. _"This is an example of a website. It's called Google."_

_"Google? What kind of a name is that for anything? It sounds like some sort of child's toy."_

Alison bit back a laugh. _"Well it's not. I actually think it's a number. It's one with a large number of zeros. But anyway, Google is a really useful website for everyone."_

_"What does it do?"_

_"Its main function is to help you find things. For example, a picture of a car. You type in 'picture of a car' into this box, and hit enter: this key." _She showed him on the keyboard. He examined it closely.

_"This looks like a typewriter."_

_"Yes, that's where it came from. But it's infinitely more useful than a typewriter. Especially since there's a delete button for any mistakes you make."_

Erik nodded, feeling amazingly overwhelmed. She saw the expression on his face. _"I'm sorry. I know it's a lot to take in, and this is only the beginning. To be fair, the computer and technology is probably more complicated to explain than anything else here."_

Erik looked back at the computer and his eyes went wide. _"It looks different!" _he exclaimed, pointing at the screen.

Alison stifled the urge to be patronizing. _"Yes, that's what it's supposed to do. But look how the first thing that comes up is a bunch of pictures of different cars. That's what a car looks like."_

Erik scrutinized the pictures. _"It looks like some sort of metal animal. How many types of these are there?"_

_"A lot. There are different companies that make different cars. When we ride in one, you'll see. But we might want to wait a couple of days so that you can get used to everything else."_

Erik agreed wholeheartedly. _"What else does this 'Internet' do besides allow you to find things?"_

_"Well, it's taken the place of letters."_

_"What? How can it do that?"_

_"Here, I'll show you."_ She typed in the web address for Gmail and hit enter. It pulled up her page of messages. _"This is how it can do that. It's called email. I think it stands for electronic mail or something like that. But people can send messages to each other if they have their email address and it goes much faster than normal mail. A letter can take days to get to someone else and sometimes it can get lost in the mail. Emails don't generally get lost. Also, you can send emails to anywhere if you have a web address. I can send an email to someone living in Germany and it would only take a short amount of time to get there."_

Erik stared. The idea of letters that could go so far in such a short time blew his mind. Even though he was completely overwhelmed, he wanted to know more. _"What about music? Can this Internet find music?"_

_"Yes, it can. I knew you'd ask about that sooner or later. It can find music in lots of different ways. Computers can store music on them so that you can listen whenever you want."_

_"How does that happen?"_

_"The music is recorded and made into a certain type of file. I don't know exactly how it works–"_

_"How can you not know about something so fantastic?"_ Alison looked a little hurt, and Erik noticed. _"I am sorry. These things are so foreign to me that…"_

_"That's the thing about all of this, Erik. They're not foreign to me. They're such a normal part of my life that I never thought to ask how they work. It's not something that holds as much interest for me, that's all."_

_"Again, I am sorry."_ Erik took her hand and smiled at her, and she melted.

_"All right, all right. Apology accepted. I'll show you the music."_ She moved the mouse down and clicked on her iTunes, pulling it to the center of the screen to show Erik. _"This is the list of all the music that I have. If you click on a song, it will play. Would you like to try?"_ Erik nodded. _"To go down and up the list of music, press these buttons."_ She showed him the down and up arrows. _"Point out the song you want to hear and I'll show you how to click on it."_ He scrolled hesitantly through her music. There were so many song titles he had never heard before and so finally he decided to pick one at random. _"That one."_ He pointed to a song on the screen.

_"My Happy Ending?"_

He nodded.

She shrugged. _"Okay. Just letting you know, it's going to be a little different from the music that you know."_

_"How different is 'a little'?"_ Erik asked suspiciously.

_"Okay, a lot,"_ Alison conceded. _"Here goes."_ She clicked on the song and it began to play.

Erik jumped back a step. _"What kind of instruments are those? I can recognize the drums, but…"_

_"That's called an electric guitar. It's…"_ Erik shushed her with a gesture so that he could listen to the music.

_"This is awfully repetitive,"_ Erik complained. _"The vocal range is not very large: this song requires no great skill to sing. Who is the singer?"_

_"Her name is Avril Lavigne. And all pop music is like that these days. Well, all of it that's not rap."_

They fell silent, listening to the song playing.

"You were everything, everything that I wanted

We were meant to be, supposed to be, but we lost it

All of the memories so close to me just fade away

And all this time you were pretending

So much for my happy ending"

Erik noticed that Alison was mouthing along with the words. _"You know this song well?"_

_"Of course I do. It's my music, after all. And besides, I like her music. I'm not going to deny that it's repetitive, but I do like it."_

Erik frowned. "_This gives a new definition to repetitive. She simply repeats the same things over and over again. I mean no offense to you, if you like her. However…"_

_"No, I get it. But that's pop music these days."_

_"Then the quality of music has declined quite a lot."_

_"But it gets worse."_ Alison stopped the song and scrolled through the music, looking for another song.

_"Wait, what is that song?" _Erik stopped her.

_"What song?"_

_"That song. Not Afraid."_

Alison stole a glance at him. _"Well all right, but I'm just warning you, you probably will like this even less than Avril. The artist's name is Eminem, and he's a rapper."  
"What is a rapper?"_

_"You'll see."_ She clicked on it.

Erik listened to the intro, head cocked to the side. _"This seems just as repetitive as the other one, but not necessarily worse."_

_"Just wait."_

Then the rap started. Erik frowned as it just kept going. _"Does he spend the entire song just doing this?"_

_"Yup."_

_"What kind of music is that? This is not even music. Ridiculous cursing and random words with music in the background? I need to find the person who invented it and…"_ He was getting angrier and angrier. _"Why has the quality of things declined so much? Why is quality sacrificed for something like this? Why does anyone even listen to this?"_

_"Because it's catchy?"_ Alison volunteered.

Erik turned to stare at her. _"That is not a reason to listen to anything! I thought that this 'Avril' was bad enough and repetitive, but this is even worse. You say this is popular? This is NOT MUSIC!"_

_"Calm down a little. It's kind of annoying for me too, but it's not like there's anything to do about it. This new age is more technological but rougher. It has much fewer boundaries and so people do more of what they want. It is freer but more restricted at the same time. It's a list of contradictions. This is the age I live in now. And it's where you live too._

_"But there's so much more to see! Just let me show you. You'll love this place eventually, I hope."_

_"I can love any place as long as you are there with me."_

**I should probably add a disclaimer: I don't own the Internet, or Google, or Avril Lavigne, or Eminem. Just in case I get copyright problems. Please review!**


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter Thirty-Three

She turned her head to look at him. He was staring back at her with absolute honesty. The love in his eyes warmed her from head to foot, and she shivered a little. She met his gaze with absolute love of her own. As if by some unseen signal, they both leaned closer to each other for a kiss.

Before their lips could meet, something started to vibrate on Alison's bedside table.

Erik jumped. _"What is that?"_

Alison leaned over and grabbed it. She pressed a button, holding it to her ear.

"Hello?"

She listened for a moment. "Okay, we're coming down."

She listened again, then nodded. "All right. And after dinner, Erik and I will probably want to talk to him alone. Should we bring him to my room or do it in the living room?"

At the unheard reply, she said, "Thanks. We'll be down in a moment."

She pulled the thing away from her ear and pressed a button. She was about to put it back on her bedside table when she noticed Erik's curious stare. She held it up so that he could see it.

_"This is a cell phone. I think it's short for cellular telephone or something like that."_

_"Telephone?"_ Erik asked curiously. _"I had heard of an invention in my time that was called the telephone, I think. It did not seem interesting to me."_

_"Why?"_

_"Even if I owned such a device, what would I use it for? I have no friends besides Antoinette, and a well-placed letter brings her to me when I need her. There would be no one whom I could call."_ There was a touch of sadness in his voice, but he spoke matter-of-factly. He was just stating the truth, after all.

They sat in silence for a moment, then Erik said, _"What did you use this 'cellular telephone' for just then?"_

_"Oh right. That was Mom. She told us to come down for dinner. And afterwards, I think we need to talk to our son."_ A little shiver of happiness went down her spine as she said the last words.

Erik noticed and smiled a little, but he was nervous at the prospect. _"Talk to him about what?"_

_"He needs to know you're his father."_

Erik nodded. Then something occurred to him. _"Where is your mother?"_

Alison frowned. _"Downstairs, why?"_

_"She called you on your cellular telephone from downstairs?"_

_"Yes, she did. My parents are lovely people, but in the summer, we're all reasonably lazy. Nobody feels like actually getting up so we call each other's cell phones even if we're only rooms away."_

_"Ah,"_ Erik said, though he didn't entirely understand.

Alison stood up and took his hand. _"Come on, Mom's waiting."_

Those words sent a spike of fear through him. He had never had an entire dinner with more than one person since he was a boy. And it wasn't just any dinner. In that moment, he felt as if his entire relationship with Alison was at stake. _What if they don't like me? What if I say something wrong? What if they ask about the mask? Should I show them? What if they are scared? Not everyone can be as understanding as my Angelique. What if they force me to leave? And my son. What if he rejects me? Will she make me show him my face? What if he screams and runs away? What if…_

Alison's voice cut into his thoughts. _"You okay?"_

He smiled at her, a fake smile meant to reassure her. _"Yes, I am fine."_

She was not convinced. _"All right. Let's go."_

She led him down the stairs, through a couple rooms, and into the living room/dining room where they ate. Her parents were already at the table and their son was sitting on the couch, wriggling impatiently. Alison went to him first, smiling.

"Hello, there. How are you?"

"Good." He smiled back.

"Time for dinner now. Up you get." She picked him up, carried him over to the table, and sat him in a booster seat. She buckled him in so that he couldn't get up and wander around.

Erik stood awkwardly, watching her and getting more nervous by the second.

"You don't have to just stand there, Erik," Sadie said, surprising him. "You should sit down. Your chair's right there next to Alison."

"Thank you," said Erik quietly. He hesitantly sat down in the chair, holding himself as stiffly and properly as he could and trying not to show his nerves.

Sadie smiled at him. "You don't have to be scared of us, Erik," she told him quietly. "We don't bite." She patted him on the arm and he looked down at the touch and back at her, surprise in his eyes.

"Well, only a little," Michael chimed in.

"Dad!" complained Alison.

Erik ducked his head and looked at his plate. They were having steak and green beans. There was more food on his plate than he'd ever had before and he stared at it in disbelief.

Alison noticed and whispered to him, _"You don't have to eat it all if you don't want to. I know you don't eat much: I'll take some of it if you don't want it."_

Erik nodded, mortified. This was all going badly and dinner hadn't even begun.

"Everyone's here now," Sadie said, "so as my parents always used to say, 'Good food, good meat–'"

"Good God, let's eat!" Michael and Alison chimed in. As if that were some sort of signal, they all picked up forks and knives and began to cut their steaks. After a moment's hesitation, Erik did the same.

Alison leaned over and cut their son's steak into small pieces before she cut her own. She smiled at him and he smiled back. _Thank God that he's in a good mood today, otherwise this whole thing would be so much harder._

Alison and her parents made conversation, not talking about anything in particular for a while, and Erik began to relax. The steak was not French, but it was very good. He wanted to complement them on it, but he wasn't sure how. Everything seemed to be going well until Michael turned to Erik.

"So, Erik," he began, and Erik tensed up immediately, "You told me that you had an opera house in Paris. You have an interest in music, I suppose?"

"Yes. I, um, enjoy playing and composing quite a lot."

"What instruments do you play?"

Erik paused to consider. "Violin, piano, organ, and cello are my instruments of choice, but I can play others as well."

"You play the cello? I didn't know that," said Alison.

"I do not usually play it anymore. Composing for the cello is more difficult because it does not carry a loud melody line: it is usually part of an orchestra. Useful when I write pieces for an orchestra, but not for pieces that need a proper melody line."

Alison nodded.

"So you compose, then?" Sadie asked.

"Yes, I do."

"Any good?"

"Music is my life, Madame. I have spent much of my time perfecting the craft. So, yes."

"He really is, Mom. He used to play for me sometimes and it's absolutely beautiful."

"I'd like to hear it. Would you play for me, one day soon?"

Erik looked a little flustered. "Yes, of course, if you wish."

"And you don't have to call me 'Madame'. Just Sadie is fine."

"Thank you…Sadie," Erik said, feeling a little successful.

"What is your job at the opera house?" Michael asked.

Erik shifted uncomfortably. "You could say I am the…manager. I work with the people who own the deeds to the opera house and offer casting and repertoire…suggestions."

Alison ducked her head to hide her smile. Technically, it was true.

Michael narrowed his eyes a little. "I see. And is the mask part of your job?"

Erik froze like a deer in headlights. Alison's head snapped up to look at her father.  
"Dad. Don't."

"We hardly know anything about him, Alison. It's our duty to get to know the man that you seem to be very attached to–"

"But it's not your duty to ask personal questions! I–"

"Why don't you let him speak for himself?"

Alison opened her mouth to reply, but Erik put a hand on her arm. _"I appreciate you defending me more than I can say,"_ he told her quietly. _"I do not wish to explain, but I think it is necessary. Perhaps if I am honest with them, they will allow me to stay. I do not want to leave you, Angelique. I will do whatever it takes to keep you by my side."_

She nodded and subsided.

Erik looked up and met Michael's eyes head on. His heart was pounding furiously in his chest. What he was about to do felt like the scariest thing he had ever done, but he had to go through with it. For Alison's sake.

"No, the mask is not part of my job, monsieur. I wear it out of necessity." He took a deep breath to steady himself. "I was born with a face that is… not normal. I wear a mask to keep it hidden."

Michael looked a little mortified. "My apologies, then, for bringing it up. I'll leave it alone in the future."

Erik was surprised at his willingness to drop the subject. Most people didn't do that: they just stared and asked uncomfortable questions and poked at it.

"So, anyone want more green beans?" Sadie asked, to break the awkward silence.

"Yes, I would love some," said Erik, surprising everyone, most of all himself.

The rest of the dinner went smoothly. Erik finished all his food, making Alison clap quietly for him under the table. He ate more at that dinner than he ever had in his life. As it went on, he felt himself being more and more accepted into the conversation, and he even felt free to talk about things. By the end, he was even laughing quietly at Michael's bad jokes. He felt more normal than he ever had in his life and he didn't feel scared or shy anymore.

Until at the end of dinner, Sadie stood up, pushed back her chair, and said to Michael, "We should go. The three of them have things to talk about." She gave Michael a meaningful look.

"Right," he said quickly, pushing back his own chair and picking up his plate. "We'll leave you three alone now. They went quickly to the kitchen and closed the glass door behind them.

Erik's heart picked up its pace again, remembering what he was about to do. How was he supposed to tell a two-year-old child that he was his father?

Alison unbuckled the straps that held the boy in the booster seat. She took his hand and led him over to the couch. He jumped up and sat on it. Alison pulled up two chairs in front of it. She sat on one and after a moment, Erik sat on the other one.

"Étienne," Alison began, "we have something to tell you."

** A/N: I don't actually know how two-year-olds behave, so if you have any suggestions, please let me know. And please review!**


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter Thirty-Four

"What is it?" asked Étienne.

Alison and Erik looked at each other, trying to think of what to say.

Alison took a deep breath and leaned forward so that she was on Étienne's level. "Étienne, remember all the stories I told you about your daddy?"

Étienne looked up at her. "You said he was musical and smart and kind and you said he was like an angel to people."

Alison shifted and went a little red, trying to hide her face from Erik. A small, loving smile lifted Erik's lips.

"Yes, darling, those stories. Do you remember what I told you his name was?"

"Erik." Étienne's answer was quick. Even Alison didn't know that he dreamed about his father. Ever since Alison had said he was like an angel, Étienne's two-year-old mind had imagined him as one, with white wings protecting him from his nightmares.

Alison nodded. "Then I would like you to meet someone very special." She had no reason to hesitate, so she figured she might as well tell him the truth quickly. "Étienne, this is Erik, your daddy."

Étienne stared at him for a moment. He didn't seem to understand. "But Mommy, you said he wasn't coming back."

"Yes, well, I thought that was true, but it isn't. He's a magic daddy and he–" She stopped when she saw he wasn't paying attention. He was just staring at Erik.

Étienne jumped down from the couch in front of Erik, reaching up to be held. Alison's eyebrows went up. _"He never does that,"_ she whispered. _"He doesn't seem to like new people."_

Erik picked Étienne up and sat him on his lap, awkwardly. He wasn't quite sure what to do with his hands or if he should say anything. He looked painfully self-conscious as Étienne stared at him solemnly.

His awkwardness turned to horror as Étienne grabbed at the mask, making it fall of his face and onto the floor with a soft thud.

He wanted to turn away, cover his face, do something, but any movement on his part would make Étienne fall and he knew he couldn't do that. So he faced Étienne and tried his hardest not to show the outright fear in his eyes.

Étienne reached out a hand and Erik did his best not to flinch as the little boy touched his face, running his hand along the pits and craters with interest.

With no warning at all, Étienne jumped off his lap and toddled away to examine something else in the room.

_"He's got a short attention span,"_ Alison told Erik, who was still looking shell-shocked. _"He moves on to the next new thing pretty quickly. It's interesting: he talks like he's older but acts his age. He's got a combination of your genius and my…normalness, if that's even a word."_

They both turned to watch Étienne playing. After a moment, Alison got up and joined him, trying to interest him in one or other of the toys. They stayed like that for half an hour, Alison playing with Étienne and Erik watching, face exposed. Warmth stirred in his chest, a strange, tingly feeling he had never experienced before.

_So this is what it means to have a family._

Soon enough, Étienne began to yawn. Alison looked up at the clock. "Wow, it's 8:00 already. He should be getting to bed." She took the toy from Étienne's hands after a momentary struggle: he didn't seem to want to let go. "Up you get." She picked him up, holding him on her hip as she carried him to his room, which was across the hall from hers. Erik picked up his mask, fitting it to his face, and followed, not really knowing what to do.

At the door to Étienne's room, she turned to look at Erik and smiled. _"You don't have to stay for this. I'll just put him to bed and meet you in a minute?"_

He nodded and turned to go into her room when Étienne said, "Goodnight, Daddy." He stopped and turned back to his son. "Goodnight, Étienne." His voice was quiet and warm. They looked into each other's eyes for a moment before Erik turned again and fled into Alison's room, overwhelmed by the surge of emotion that had swept through him when Étienne called him Daddy.

Alison looked after him for a second, smiling, then turned to Étienne and bounced him on her hip. "Shall we?"

She managed to get his pajamas on, his teeth brushed, and him tucked into bed without too much of his normal fuss. She sat beside him on the bed, stroking his hair. Dropping a kiss on his forehead, she had started getting up to go when he grabbed her hand. "Mommy, could you sing the song?" he asked plaintively.

She smiled and sat back down. "Of course, darling."

"Love's a curious thing

It often comes disguised

Look at love the wrong way

It goes un-recognized

So look with your heart

And not with your eyes

The heart understands

The heart never lies

Believe what it feels

And trust what it shows

Look with your heart

The heart always knows"

Her voice drifted through the walls to Erik, who closed his eyes and let Alison's long-missed voice wash over him. She wasn't self-conscious or nervous, and he loved the way it sounded, even though it was untrained. At first he just reveled in the sound of her voice, then he began listening to the lyrics.

"Love is not always beautiful

Not at the start

So open your arms

And close your eyes tight

Look with your heart

And when it finds love

Your heart will be right

Learn from someone who knows

Make sure you don't forget

Love you misunderstand

Is love that you'll regret

So look with your heart

And not with your eyes

The heart can't be fooled

The heart is too wise

Forget what you think

Ignore what you hear

Look with your heart

It always sees clear

Love is not always beautiful

Not at the start

But open your arms

And close your eyes tight

Look with your heart

And when it finds love

Your heart will be right"

Alison stroked Étienne's face, smiling. At the end of the song, he was already asleep. "That song is about your daddy, Étienne," she whispered. "He needs people to love him, who can look past his face. You can look with your heart too, I bet." She kissed his cheek. "Goodnight, darling." Then she left the room, closing the door behind her.

She slipped into her own room, trying not to wake Étienne. She closed her door and turned to face Erik, who was staring at her with the strangest look in his eyes.

_"What?"_ she asked, suddenly nervous. _"Did it sound bad? Did I do something wrong?"_

He crossed the room until he was standing just in front of her. _"No,_" he said softly. _"You did everything right."_ He cupped her chin and kissed her passionately, whispering _"Thank you" _over and over and over again against her lips.

After they broke away, Erik whispered, _"You've given me everything I've ever wanted, Angelique. I never thought that someone could love me as much as you do and I never thought I would have a child. Never thought that anyone could call me Daddy. Thank you for teaching our child that love is more important than looks. My mother never did."_ His voice was bitter for a second, and Alison reached up to touch his face gently. His eyes cleared at the sensation and he looked at her, trying to put everything he felt into his eyes and words._ "Thank you for making me feel like a normal man."_

**Thank you all so much for your suggestions about two-year-olds, they were all really helpful! Hope I've made him as much like a two-year-old as I can. And this is another short one, but I hope I've gotten the point across. Please review!**


	35. Chapter 35

**A/N: Some random comedy filler before the plot starts up again. There are some Love Never Dies spoilers towards the end of this chapter so if you haven't seen it or you don't like spoilers, skip that part.**

Chapter Thirty-Five

Erik came down to breakfast one morning about a week after he had arrived, wearing the same suit he had come in. It was getting a little wrinkled from all its use. Alison was setting the table for the family and greeted him with a smile. "Good morning, Erik."

"Good morning, Angelique," he replied, smiling back at her.

She turned to fully look at him and gave him a once-over with her eyes.

"What is it?" he asked, feeling self-conscious.

"Erik, we need to get you some new clothes."

He looked down at himself and nodded. "I acknowledge the truth of that, but I do not know where to get any. All of my clothes are still in France, and I have no way or intention of going there to retrieve them."

"That's not what I was thinking," Alison replied, the beginnings of a grin forming on her face.

"What is your plan, then?" Erik asked, confused.

The grin stretched across her face. "Let's go to the mall."

"The what? I have never heard that word before."

"It's a large building that contains lots of stores," Alison explained. "It's got almost everything people need, so we can go and find you some new clothes that fit a little more with the times."

"What is wrong with suits? People wear suits in this day and age, correct?"

"Yes," Alison acknowledged. "But they don't wear them all the time. Suits are generally for special occasions unless you're working somewhere that you're required to dress formally. You haven't been out much, but when we go, you'll see that most guys don't wear suits all the time. So we'll get you something a little more modern than a suit."

"But I thought I explained this to you. I like my suit." Erik's voice was just on the edge of a whine. "As I said, it shows power and class and strength. It is the clothing of a gentleman. And–"

"It's extremely inconvenient in the summer, if you wear it all the time you'll get stared at, and you can't just stick them in the washing machine. They have to be dry-cleaned and that gets expensive. So we need to find something that gives you power and class and whatever else it was that you wanted that isn't a suit. I'll ask Dad what he thinks. I know absolutely nothing about men's clothes."

Erik huffed. "If it is that difficult to find clothes for me, we should just get a suit."

Alison rolled her eyes. "You are really set on these suits, aren't you?"

Erik was about to reply when Alison's parents came into the room with plates of eggs and bacon for breakfast. Alison went up to Étienne's room and brought him down, and they all had breakfast together. Afterwards, Alison and Michael did the dishes.

"Dad?" Alison asked.

"Yes?"

"What would be good clothing for a man that is formal and good for summer but isn't a suit?"

Alison's dad thought about it for a moment. "Well, I generally wear khakis and a polo if I need to be formal in the summer."

Alison tried to picture Erik in a polo and couldn't. _No polos,_ she decided. _Not to mention that Erik would have a fit if we tried to get him in a polo. _She shuddered it off and tried to think of another way to phrase the question. "Can you think of clothes for Erik that are somewhat classy but not a suit?"

Michael's expression cleared. "Oh, so you want to find clothes for Erik. You could try black khakis. They do actually make those. Or black jeans and a button-down."

Alison thought about it. "That might work. Just on the edge of formal but not a suit. Okay, thanks."

She ran off to look for Erik. Alison poked her head around the door of his room and laughed. He was sitting on the bed with his suit hugged around him and a disgruntled expression on his face.

"_What is it, Erik?"_ she asked.

_"Your mother dislikes my suit too_," Erik replied, annoyed.

"_Well, we came up with a compromise. How about black jeans and a button-down? It's still reasonably suit-like, but without most of the issues that come with a suit."_

Erik thought about it, and sighed. "_Fine."_

Alison tried to cover her amusement at his childishness, and utterly failed. Erik gave her a black look and folded his arms.

"_All right, so now that we've got that settled, let's go to the mall."_ Alison turned to leave.

"_Are there many people at the mall?"_

_"Yes, of course. It's open for everyone and there are lots of shops."_

_"Then I am not going,"_ said Erik firmly.

Alison turned around and stared at him. "_What?"_

_"I said that I am not going."_

_"Why not? We're talking about your clothes here."_ Alison was confused and getting increasingly annoyed.

_"I do not interact well with people."_

Alison blinked for a moment in annoyance, trying to process. "_But you need clothes,"_ she said slowly, as if to a kid.

_"I understand that, but I do not like crowds of people in broad daylight. You and your family accept me enough that I can talk to you without fear, but in crowds I am stared at and ridiculed. Have you forgotten this?"_ He jabbed a finger at his mask. _"I am not accepted or liked. You are special, more special than you know because you stay with me even though you know what is behind the mask. But most people do not. They stare and point and laugh. I am a freak and an oddity in their eyes. I know that it is two hundred years after my time, but there are some things in human nature that do not change."_

"_That makes sense_," Alison admitted. "_But then how are we supposed to get you clothes? We need to know what your sizes are. We need to know if you like things."_

_"If it is an issue of preference, then buy a suit!"_ Erik shot back.

_"Aren't you curious at all about what's out there? You've barely left the house since you got here."_

_"I am curious, I admit it. But this "mall" sounds crowded and I do not like crowds of people. I am not going."_

Alison huffed. _"Fine. Be childish and stay in the damn house. But don't complain if you don't like what I buy you because you weren't there to pick it out."_ She left his room, slamming the door behind her. She ran down the stairs and back into the kitchen. "Dad?"

Michael turned around. "What is it?"

"Can you come with me to buy clothes for Erik? I have absolutely no idea where to begin to look for men's clothes."

"Isn't he coming himself?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because he doesn't like crowds of people. I understand his aversion, but this is just not fair."

"What is his aversion?" Michael asked curiously.

"He had a bad childhood because of his mask and learned to dislike large groups of people because they were usually there to stare and laugh at him. It's kind of a long story and it's his to tell. But the result of it is that I have to go by myself."

"Got yourself a stubborn one." Michael grinned at her.

Alison sighed. "Yeah, I guess you could say that. Will you help me or not?"

"Yes, I'll help you. Let me go up and see if I can estimate what his size would be. I'll be right back."

Michael returned in five minutes and they went to the mall. It took three hours to find something they both thought Erik would deem acceptable. They had to go through ten different stores to find everything. By the end, Alison was extremely pissed off at Erik and couldn't wait to get home and give him a piece of her mind.

As soon as their car pulled up in the driveway, Alison jumped out with the bag and threw a quick "Thank you!" over her shoulder to her father. She pushed open the door and ran up the stairs to her room. She opened the door and stopped dead when she saw Erik sitting at her computer, fully occupied with whatever he was watching.

_"Erik, what the hell? What are you doing?"_

Erik turned around. He looked angry and shocked at the same time. _"See this monstrosity for yourself."_

Alison looked over his shoulder and stared at the two women embracing on the stage in the screen in front of them.

"My dear old friend

Can't believe you're here, old friend

After all this time

Christine you came!

You look sublime

You look the same"

_"Love Never Dies."_ Alison said dully. Her anger with Erik melted away, replaced by awkwardness.

Erik looked at her. _"You have seen this before?"_

Alison shifted uncomfortably. _"Well, yes…"_

_"Who would write anything such as this? It is atrocious! Madame Giry and Meg never helped me after the problems at the opera house. I escaped myself. Christine did marry Raoul, but they were implying that we…"_ He gestured with his hands, trying to avoid saying it.

_"Yes, I'm aware. I've seen it before. And if you keeps watching, it kind of gets worse."_

_"Worse? How could it possibly be worse?"_

Alison bit her lip. _"Well…um…Christine's little kid isn't actually Raoul's, he's…yours…"_

Erik stared. _"What?"_

_"And the Phantom…or you… or whatever–"_

_"Not me. Not anything like me. Just call the man the Phantom, it makes things easier."  
"Okay, the Phantom, then. As you've already seen, Raoul is an abusive drunk and the Phantom shows up at the bar where he's drinking and makes a bet with him that if Christine sings, he has to leave without her, but if she doesn't, he'll let them go and be together…"_

_"That is not so bad. Does the fop lose?"_

_"Yes, he loses, but…um…"_

_"But what? Does the Phantom in this story get a happy ending?"_

_"Ah…no. Meg shoots Christine by accident and she dies."_

Erik was silent for a moment. Then finally: _"What? What? That is absolutely ridiculously absurd! First of all, Meg would never do anything like that in real life. What would be her reason for shooting Christine?"_

_"She was in love with the Phantom…"_ Alison muttered, looking down.

Erik stared. _"That is even more absurd. What kind of a story is this? Meg is so sweet and kind. She would never do such a thing."_ He got up and started pacing the room feverishly._ "And Christine would never bear my child, ever! You have met her. You saw the way she speaks about me. My very name scares her. How in the world would something such as that ever happen between us? I would never threaten her child to persuade her to do what I want. 'A man as hideous as this is capable of anything'? I do not say that and I am not like that. I am not a fool. One would have to be one to do something as awful as that. And why is hearing her sing so important to this man? Her voice is important to me, I will not deny it, but I would not go to such lengths just to persuade her to sing one song. And as much as I loathe the fop, I do not believe he would turn to drinking and treat Christine so cruelly. All of the people in this…thing act so unlike their actual selves. And so I ask you again, who would write this?"_

_"Um… it was written by a man named Andrew Lloyd Weber, the guy who wrote the musical Phantom of the Opera. Like I told you, that one talks about what happened with Christine."_

_"Please, please tell me that is better than this."_

_"Well, it is very good. And from what you've told me, it's reasonably accurate. So then you could say it's better."_

_"It had better be. This is absolutely not accurate in any way, shape, or form. It does not even have you in it! You are the most important thing that happened to me in the ten years since Christine left me, and it says nothing about you."_

Alison's mouth quirked up in a rueful and grateful smile. _"In that universe, I don't exist. I'm just a random person."_

_"You are not just a random person to me," _Erik told her.

The last vestiges of her anger with him vanished. She looked down. _"Thanks."_

_"No matter what this Weber man says or writes, this is not my life. I have you and I have Étienne. Christine has fled from me and she is a thing of the past now. You helped me to move past her. 'Love Never Dies' is a cruel lie on his part and I do not appreciate it."_ Erik went back to the computer to turn it off, then stopped as he realized something. _"You did know it before. You sang a song from it to Étienne. Why did you do that?"_

Alison shrugged. _"Despite the context of the musical, I like the song and I thought it was nice. And it seemed to get him to go to sleep, so I just decided to do it."_

Erik nodded. _"I see. But let us not even discuss this thing again. It is too horrible to be mentioned."_

_"Don't be too mean about it,"_ Alison admonished. _"I thought it was pretty good before I met you. If I didn't know that you existed in real life, I still probably would have liked it."_

Erik gave her a death glare, then subsided as he thought about it. _"I suppose you have a point,"_ he admitted grudgingly. _"But that is not my life. Nor will it ever be."_ They stood in silence for a moment.

_"Did you get the clothes?"_ Erik asked.

Alison smiled. _"Yes, I did, and you better like them."_

**Please review!**


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter Thirty-Six

The next day, Alison was sitting at her computer typing when she heard a knock on the door. "Come in," she called distractedly.

The door squeaked open behind her. She turned around in her chair and stared, her mouth hanging open involuntarily.

Erik was standing in the doorway, wearing a dark purple button-down that clung to his thin frame and a pair of black jeans that he kept adjusting every few seconds. "_Does this look all right? I can change if you need me to–"_

_"No,"_ replied Alison, shaking her head a little to clear it. _"You look…really good."_ She grinned at him. _"All of the girls will be so jealous of me. They'll be wondering how I managed to get myself such an attractive boyfriend."_ She got up, put her hands on his cheeks and kissed him. Then she pulled back, still smiling.

It was Erik's turn to stare. _"You think so? Truly?"_

_"Oh yes, definitely. I'll have to keep you on a leash to make sure you don't get stolen. Some of the girls I know at college throw themselves after every cute guy who comes along. Nice people, but…"_

_"Ah."_ Erik was still a little bit shocked at being called 'attractive', but he shook it off as Alison went to sit back down. _"What are you writing?"_ he asked, looking over her shoulder.

_"An essay for a class I'm going to take in the fall. I need to bring it in the first day of class, and before that I'll have to move into my room and meet my roommate and everything. I signed up for a new one so I honestly don't know what kind of a person I'll get. So I'm probably not going to have time to do it when I get there."_

_"When you get where?"_ asked Erik.

_"College,"_ Alison replied as if it should be obvious. _"I'm going back for senior year in about a month. I need to be ready and it's probably better to do it sooner or later."_

_"You are still going to school?"_ Erik was a little confused.

_"Yes, of course I'm going to school. I told you, I have one more year."_

_"Where is this 'college'?"_

_"Didn't I tell you when I was in your world?"_ She shrugged._ "I guess not. It's a little outside of Boston, in Massachusetts. It's about six hours away if you drive."_

_"Six hours away? But what about Étienne? Will you take him with you to school?"_ Erik didn't understand. Why was she going to school and leaving their child?

_"He'll stay here, with my parents, the way he has for the last two years. Obviously the first year I couldn't exactly leave him, but it was really difficult to manage him and homework and everything else, so he's staying here. I don't like doing it but he can't come with me."_

_"So you drive twelve hours every day, there and back, and go to school for the rest of the time?"_ Erik was having trouble understanding the concept.

_"No!"_ She looked at him as if he were crazy. _"Of course not. That would be stupid. No, I stay there for the school year and come back on breaks. I seriously thought about going to the community college nearby but my parents wanted me to get the best education I could so that I can support Étienne. We managed to persuade the school to keep me."_

_"But what about me?"_ Erik sounded almost lost, envisioning the life her words painted in his mind. A life without the woman he loved. Again. _"Where will I go? I cannot stay here and take advantage of your parents' hospitality. You know that I am not a good guest, nor am I good with people in general."_

That threw Alison for a moment. _"You could come with me, I suppose, and live in a house somewhat nearby or in Boston or something like that, I guess. I could help you get a job and find your way around. That way, we would be close enough and it would be easier for me to see you."_

_"Angelique, I have not had a proper job in years because of this."_ He pointed at his mask. _"I–"_

_"Will you stop using your mask as a crutch?"_ The words exploded out of Alison before she could stop them.

_"What?"_

_"Stop using your mask as a crutch. 'I've got a mask, so I can't leave the house. I've been shunned for all of my life, so I can't go to the mall or anywhere else or talk to people, et cetera, et cetera.'" _Her voice was a poor imitation of his. _"I can't just run around and do things like this for you. I want to be your lover, not your freaking mother. I understand that you need help. You need to learn about the modern world and be accustomed enough to do things on your own. I get that. But you can't just use the fact of your mask as an excuse to make me do all the work."_

Erik was stunned. _"I am doing no such thing! My life has led me to be cautious about these sorts of things. That is all. I am not trying to make you do all the work. I can be perfectly independent. I have, in fact, been learning about the modern world. I just leave at night when you cannot see me. I have learned some things. I taught myself how to use the bus based on what you told me. I am not utterly stupid, Angelique."_ His voice rose with his anger.

_"Well, then don't act like it! I love you and I want to spend time with you –"_

_"It does not seem like it."_

_"What? How? You know that I–"_

_"Then why are you going to college and leaving me?"_ As soon as the words left his mouth he went red and turned away, his hands clutching at his lips as if he were trying to push the offending sentence back in.

They stood in silence for a moment.

_"I'm not trying to leave you,"_ said Alison, breaking the silence. _"How could you ever think that? But I do need to finish college and get a job, and do so many other things with my life. I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, but I have my own things to do as well. Not everything is centered around you."_ She tried to speak as gently as possible.

_"If you leave, how do I know you will come back?"_ He sounded almost like a lost child.

_"You can come with me, Erik."_ She went to him and took his hands in hers. _"We can still see each other. It's not as if I want to break up with you. I spent almost three years thinking you were gone, I'm not losing you again."_

_"You don't need to go to college, you know."_ His voice was quiet. _"I can take care of you and Étienne."_

She smiled sadly. _"How? I know you have education, but not in the traditional way. In this day and age, people won't accept that. They need to see college credentials, past job experiences, references, things like that. You have none of those things."_

_"You are saying that I am not worth hiring?" _asked Erik, offended.

_"No! Of course not! I'm just trying to be practical."_

_"Practical? How is that practical? I am trying to provide for my family. That is practical. That is my duty as a man, as a lover, and as a father."_

_"I understand that, Erik. But in this day and age, the woman can provide too. I'm not saying you're not good enough,"_ responded Alison quickly, trying to diffuse the anger she saw rising like an oncoming storm. She had forgotten how great a temper he had, but was being reminded every second by the expression behind his eyes.

_"I am perfectly capable of providing for everyone myself! You do not need to exert yourself. I have a family, something I did not have before, and I intend to take care of it."_

_"It's not about exerting myself, it's about doing something worthy with my life."_

_"And being with me isn't enough?"_

_"No. Yes! It's not about that, Erik. You are more than good enough–"_

_"Lies."_ His voice was cold. She could tell that her momentary hesitation had hurt him, and he was retreating to minimize pain.

_"I'm not lying, just hear me out."_

_"You've said all that you need to say. Go. Go to college and do something more __worthy__ with your life. I should have known it was too good to last."_ The contempt in his voice cut her to the bone as he turned to leave.

_"Erik."_ This time she was pleading. _"Listen to me."_

He turned back to look at her. _"I have listened to you."_ Rage boiled beneath his voice. _"And you have told me that I am inadequate, not worthy, and too weak to support even myself."_

_"No, that's not what–"_

He slapped her.

As soon as his hand made contact with her skin, he jerked back, a look of horror on his face. The anger that had blotted out all other thought disappeared at the crack of skin on skin. He wanted nothing more than to undo what he had done, but it was too late. Alison's hand went to her cheek, shock turning to betrayal in her eyes. He reached out to her in apology, but she flinched back.

_"Don't touch me,"_ she hissed. _"Don't even think about it. Just get out."_

_"I am so sorry–"_ he whispered.

_"Get out!"_ She pushed him out of her room and slammed the door behind him. She leaned her head against the cool wood surface of the door, taking a deep breath to calm her emotions.

Erik stared at the closed door that was inches from his nose, trying to muster some excuse for what he had just done.

"Daddy?" Étienne's childish voice came from just behind him and he spun around. "What happened?"

Erik bent down to his son's level, trying to put a smile on his face. "Nothing, Étienne. Your mother and I just had a little…disagreement, that is all. Nothing to worry about."

Étienne smiled back at him and gave him a hug, wrapping his arms around Erik's shoulders. Erik tentatively hugged back, pushing down the rising tide of mixed emotions. "It will be all right, Étienne. Just go play with your grandmother for a little bit, okay?"

The little boy nodded. "Okay." He ran down the stairs calling, "Grandma! Grandma!"

Erik watched him go, then stormed up to his room, closing and locking the door. He sat down at the piano and let the pained, tortured music spill from his fingers and bleed through the floor to where Alison sat at her computer, trying to concentrate on her essay. It pierced her right to the quick. Unable to think anymore, she slammed the top of the computer down, buried her face in her hands, and let herself cry.


	37. Chapter 37

**A/N: HEY GUYS I'M SO SORRY! I've been super busy lately because I'm doing camp all summer and am currently trying to learn Hungarian for my latest show, which is a lot of fun. (If you can guess which musical it is I'll give you lots and lots of virtual cookies. Hint: Uh uh). My updates are going to be kind of sporadic throughout the summer just because of camp and I apologize in advance.**

**Oh, and to Annoyed Guest: When I don't update, it's not because I choose not to, or lack the motivation, or forget. It's because I simply don't have time. Sometimes life is unpredictable. Your "reminders" only serve the purpose of reminding me that people actually care about the story, and for that I thank you. However, if you're "growing quite tired of having to remind me to update my story on time" then don't feel the need to. I always update as soon as I can. There's no need to be rude about it.**

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Alison woke up the next morning with tear tracks on her cheeks and forgot for a moment why. Then it all came back to her. A hand hitting her cheek, the redness of anger and pain, slamming the door in Erik's shocked face. _Erik!_ She sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, running her palms over her face and into her hair.

Anger and pain rushed through her at the thought of him. The slap had touched something deep and private inside her. It had broken down the confidence she had had in him. He had promised over and over that he would never hurt her, never cause her pain intentionally. She had known he was a violent man, but she had never thought he would hit her. She had always thought that she was the exception to his rules about other people. Now she wasn't so sure.

_Am I overreacting?_ she asked herself. _It was just one slap and he looked so sorry afterwards…_

_It's not just a slap,_ she reminded herself. _He could apologize this time. I would believe it and welcome him back. But now I can't trust him. When I argue with him, it'll always be in the back of my mind now. What if I say or do something wrong and he hits me again? I don't want to get into one of those relationships where the girl is so scared of the guy that she's trapped in a relationship she doesn't want to be part of._

_Erik would never do that,_ her heart supplied. _He loves you._

_He can't control himself,_ her brain argued back. _I know that he loves me, but he still has a temper. I can't trust him anymore–_

Her phone rang, startling her out of her thoughts. She picked it up quickly and held it to her ear. "Hello?"

"Hi, honey." Sadie's voice sounded tinny over the phone. "It's time for breakfast."

"I'll be down in a moment," Alison replied, and hung up.

She got dressed and reluctantly walked down to breakfast, not wanting to have to face Erik. She entered the room at a snail's pace and sat in her usual chair, trying to hide her nerves.

Sadie came in holding Étienne, and sat him down in his usual chair. Michael followed with eggs and bacon for everyone. Normally they would have looked delicious, but Alison's stomach rebelled at the thought of eating them with Erik's leg or elbow brushing hers at every movement. The close contact usually thrilled her, but now the thought of it made her angry and scared all at the same time.

Her eyes flicked to the door, expecting to see Erik walk in at any moment, but he wasn't coming. He was usually the first one at the table; despite his insistence that he didn't eat, he was always there in time for breakfast.

_Maybe he just doesn't want to have to talk to me and is too much of a coward to face it. _

They all sat and waited for Erik, but as fifteen minutes went by and he didn't arrive, Sadie and Michael grew worried.

"Alison, can you go and check on Erik? I think something might have happened to him," Sadie said, concerned.

Alison pressed her lips together in annoyance. "Why? Maybe he just overslept or something." But she knew that wasn't the case.

"Well someone's being rude today," joked Michael. "It'll only take five seconds."

"But–"

"He's your boyfriend. You would be the most welcome in his room."

Alison sighed. "Fine." She pushed her chair back, making it scrape along the floor, and walked quickly upstairs. She knocked sharply on his door and waited. No sound came from within. She knocked again.

"Erik? It's time for breakfast. If you don't want to come down, be my guest. Just thought you should know." She listened for any acknowledgement that he had heard, but none came.

"My parents aren't going to let me alone until you give some sort of response, so you might as well save us both the trouble." Irritation saturated her voice. There was still no answer from his room. A hint of concern crept through her anger. He was usually awake at this time, and in light of what had happened she thought he would be playing the piano. But everything was quiet. Too quiet.

"If you don't answer me, I'm coming in!" she threatened, trying to get him to say something. There was no reply. Pushing a breath through her nose, she banged his door open and stood staring, shocked, at the sight within.

The room was empty.

The bed was made perfectly and all of the clothes she had bought him were hanging up neatly in the closet. The sheet music, which had threatened to take over at least half of the room, was gone without a trace. It was all too neat.

A feeling of panic began to rise in her throat and she tried to quash it down. _I'm angry with him, remember?_ She looked around the room almost frantically, looking for any hint as to where he had gone.

Her eyes landed on a white envelope that lay on the bed with her name on it in Erik's handwriting. She ran to pick it up and tore the envelope in her haste to open it.

_Dear Angelique,_

_I am sorry for our quarrel last night and I do not deny that it was entirely my fault. Upon reflection, I realized that I was overreacting and not thinking straight. You truly were not trying to insult me and I understand that now._

_I am also sorry for the harm I did you. I have broken the promise I made to you that I would never hurt you. My apologies, however, are not enough to mitigate the truth of what I have done. You know that I am a murderer and I could kill you in a moment of anger. Until yesterday, I did not think that remotely possible. Now, however, I must reconsider.  
I cannot trust myself anymore and I am sure that you cannot trust me either. So I have decided that it is best for me to leave. I do not wish to, but I fear I have no choice._

_ Both your life and Étienne's will be better without me in them. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me one day, then I will be forever grateful._

_I have given you back the clothes. I do not wish to take more from you than I already have._

_Goodbye and good luck with your final year of college. I have no doubt that you will do something more worthy with your life than I could ever give you._

_I will always lo_

_Your obedient servant,_

_Er__ O.G._

Her legs gave out from under her as she sank onto the bed. Thoughts and emotions whirled through her head. She couldn't decide whether to be angry, scared or sad. She was still angry from the fight, angry that he had made a decision for the two of them without asking how it would affect her, angry that one man's absence could hurt her so much. She was scared for him. No matter how much he said he knew about the real world, there was no way that he would be able to fend for himself. He had refused to leave the house in daylight ever since he had arrived. His English was good enough, but he had no money, no job, and no real sense of the present. _He could have gotten hit by a car,_ she worried. _He could have been mugged or shot in an alleyway by now and I would never know. _Just the thought of losing him like that sent fear and pain all through her body and mind.

His absence opened up the hole in her heart that she had been trying to fill after he returned. Its aching pressure filled her up, returning with a vengeance from where she had tried to drive it away. She had been so close to having everything she had ever wanted and all that had disappeared like morning mist with the touch of hand to cheek.

Fighting back tears, she left the room, walking down the stairs to the table with the letter in her hand. Her parents' smiles melted away when they saw the expression on her face.

"What is it, Alison?" Sadie asked, concerned.

"He's gone." She didn't even recognize her voice as it came out of her mouth.

"What? Just like that? We need to send people out looking for him. Someone must have taken him–"

"No." Alison's voice was firm.

"I don't understand," replied Sadie, confused. "Don't you want to find him?"

"He left of his own volition and we should respect that." Defeat showed itself in every line of her face. "Besides, if he doesn't want to be found, you can be sure that you will never find him."

"Alison, honey–" Sadie reached out to her, trying to comfort her.

She stepped away from her mother's touch. "May I go to my room, please? I'm not hungry."

"All right. If there's anything you need–"

"There isn't." Alison threw her words like a knife as she walked quickly up to her room, leaving silence behind her.

"Grandma? What's going on? Where's Daddy?" asked Étienne, trying to understand why everyone wasn't happy anymore.

"Your daddy has gone away for a little while and we're not sure he'll be back," Michael told him quietly.

Étienne's face fell and he began to cry.

Upstairs, Alison shut the door and tears slipped down her cheeks. After she had sobbed her heart out, she wiped her face with one hand.

She sat back to begin the business of trying to get over the only man she had ever loved. Again.


End file.
